The roar of the waterfall drowned out the squeaking axles, clip-clopping hooves, and armoured boots on stone as Dahlen and Belina marched across one of the many walkways that bridged the courtyards and platforms of Durakdur, a stream of food-bearing wagons trailing behind them.
The wagons were drawn by creatures that looked similar to ponies. Ihvon had called them virtuks. But where ponies had coats of short hair, these animals had a thick, white hide of leathery skin. Articulated sections of grey, armour-like carapace grew from their skin, covering their backs, sides, and shoulders, along with a section that formed around their heads and necks like helms. And where ponies had soft muzzles, virtuks had hard carapace-covered beaks. He'd seen them many times before when the dwarves had brought food rations into the refugee quarters. They didn't look like creatures he would want to get on the wrong side of. Ihvon had explained to him that the virtuks were traditionally war mounts of the old dwarven kingdoms, but in times of peace they had been transitioned into beasts of burden to keep their numbers viable.
Fifty of Kira's Queensguard marched alongside the column of wagons. Ten at the front, ten at the back, and the other thirty spread throughout.
"It is good to see you alive and well, Virandr."
Dahlen had been pleasantly surprised to find that both Yoring and Almer – two dwarves he had fought alongside at the battle of Belduar – had been selected as part of his escort. In the midst of the chaos, familiar faces were a welcome sight.
"As it is you, Yoring. How is your knee?"
"Aye, it creaks and groans," the dwarf said, the gold and silver rings knotted in his beard shimmering in the flowerlight of the lanterns. "But it does its job."
"He still uses it as an excuse when he's too lazy to spar." Almer nudged Yoring in the shoulder, causing the dwarf to stumble a little. "But truly, we are thankful to Heraya for sparing you, Dahlen. May your fires never be extinguished and your blade never dull. When the queen gave the order to attack the Belduaran lines, I thought of you."
"Aye," Yoring agreed. "Had you not helped Almer carry me to the Wind Runner in Belduar, we would both be char and ash now, returned to Hafaesir's forge."
Dahlen gave the dwarves a soft smile, his memories turning to the Heart, the bolts that ripped through the Kingsguard, tearing limbs, rending steel, spraying blood. The memories clenched his heart in a fist, pulling around his lungs, tightening, blending with the smell of burnt leather and flesh from Belduar. I am the son of Naia and Aeson Virandr. I am strong of mind. Images flashed of the healer who had carried Ihvon's stretcher, broken bone protruding from the stump of his shoulder where the bolt had torn his arm free. Screams. I am the son of Naia and Aeson Virandr. I am strong of mind. His father's voice rang in his head. Give your mind a task. Dahlen focused on his breathing, slowly in through his nose, releasing through his mouth. Slow everything.His focus was only broken by the unfamiliar concern in Belina's voice. "It does get easier."
A shiver rippled through Dahlen as the haze lifted from his mind. He tried to collect his thoughts and ask Belina what she meant, but all that came out was a muddled, "Hmm?"
"The scars and wounds of our past. Dealing with them gets easier. When we see and feel traumatic things, they cling to us like thorns."
"I'm fine." Dahlen let out a sigh, running his hand through his hair. He pushed the pads of his fingers against his scalp. "Leave it be, Belina. There are more important things to deal with."
"You men are all the same. You carry pain and shame yourself for feeling it until it breaks you. It's not weak to hurt. It's human."
Dahlen frowned at Belina but didn't answer. This was not the time to deal with demons in his head. First, they needed to deal with the demons who plagued the tangible world.
The column of wagons and Queensguard marched across the walkways and platforms, drawing eyes from all around. Whispers spread from every platform and courtyard as market-goers halted, and armourers and blacksmiths stopped mid-swing. Above, dwarves looked out over the low walls that lined the web of bridges and paths, gawking at the procession.
The closer they drew to the enormous waterfall that was the jewel of the mountain chasm within which Durakdur had been built, the louder the crashing water became. The thunderous roar consumed all other sounds, hammering like a chorus of drums beating harder and harder against the rocks.
Ahead, an enormous platform connected the city to the refugee quarters via a broad walkway that passed no more than fifty feet from the waterfall. Dahlen had stood on the platform many times since entering the mountain city, just as he had walked across that walkway. But where before the platform had been mostly empty, it now played host to hundreds of armoured dwarves, some astride virtuks, sharp steel gripped in their fists.
Had Kira not already warned him, he would have been caught by surprise at the sight of the green and silver banners of Azmar and the white and black of Ozryn. Several of each stood amidst the ranks of dwarves, joined by the crimson and gold of Durakdur. But despite Kira's warning that Pulroan and Elenya had sent soldiers to join her own, Dahlen had not expected their strength of presence.
Alongside the armoured dwarves, Dahlen also noticed a number of the mobile Bolt Throwers sitting atop raised metal platforms that were fitted with cogs and wheels.
"Hold!" a voice called as Dahlen and the column of wagons reached the platform the dwarven soldiers stood upon.
Dahlen found himself pleasantly surprised by the sight of another familiar face as Nimara, the dwarven warrior who had escorted Dahlen's father through the tunnels in search of Calen and Erik, stepped forward to where Dahlen's walkway met the platform, a number of armoured dwarves marching beside her.
The hammer of Durakdur was emblazoned across the dwarves' breastplates, four stars arranged around the head.
"May your fires never be extinguished and your blade never dull, Dahlen Virandr." The dwarf's long blonde braid, laden with gold and silver rings, trailed over the shoulder of her thick plate. A half-smile adorned her face as she inclined her head.
Dahlen repeated the greeting, as did Mirlak – the Queensguard Kira had placed in charge of the column.
"By order of the Queen, we are to pass through the blockade," Mirlak said, his crimson cloak trailing just short of the stone.
"Of course." Nimara gave a slight nod, her respect for the Queensguard evident. "And the wagons?"
"They are to pass through as well."
"At once."
"What is this?" More dwarves approached, cloaks of green and silver draped over their shoulders – Pulroan's Queensguard. One marched ahead of the others – the captain, most likely. A broad-chested dwarf with ashen grey skin and a thick beard of knotted black, laden with enough rings of gold and silver to rival Nimara's. "What are these wagons?"
Mirlak stepped forwards, an immediate tension setting into the air. "By order of Queen Kira of Durakdur, we are to pass through the blockade and meet with the Belduaran king."
The captain of the Azmaran Queensguard looked past Mirlak, paying as much heed to the dwarf's words as Dahlen would have paid to a child's. "And what are these wagons carrying? Is that food? Is your queen mad?" The dwarf came a step closer to Mirlak, and the atmosphere shifted. The other Queensguard who'd marched at the front of the column along with Mirlak moved to their leader's side, Yoring and Almer included.
"You will step aside." The tone in Mirlak's voice left no room for negotiation.
The other dwarf didn't back down. "If we let food through, this siege will be extended by weeks. We cannot allow it."
"It is not your place to allow it or forbid it."
"My queen—"
"Your queen has no say here." Mirlak dropped his hand to the axe hanging at his hip, the rest of his guard doing the same. Nimara gave a quick gesture with her hand, and the dwarves under her command moved to surround the Azmaran Queensguard. Dahlen could see movement buzzing all about the platform, dwarves from each of the three kingdoms trying to see what was happening. "This is Durakdur. Not Azmar. You are here by allowance of Queen Kira, out of respect for Queen Pulroan. But while you are here, you will do as you are told. Stand aside."
The leader of the Azmaran Queensguard glared at Mirlak, his jaw visibly clenching. The tension was so thick, Dahlen could feel it in the air before the dwarf turned to one of his companions and whispered something. The other dwarf grunted a nod then marched off towards a bridge that stood on the opposite side of the enormous platform.
"Queen Pulroan will hear of this." The captain stepped aside, gesturing for the other Azmaran dwarves to do the same.
"I'm sure she will." Mirlak gave the captain a nod, raising his hand as he walked past, gesturing for the wagons to continue. "Carry on through."
"That was tense," Belina said, once again taking joy in pointing out the obvious.
"It has been since the attacks," Mirlak replied, gazing at the dwarves from Azmar and Ozryn who were gathered around the platform. Now that they were up close, Dahlen could see that the dwarves of the other kingdoms held themselves distinctly separate. There was no mingling. He was beginning to understand what Kira meant when she had placed such an emphasis on the word 'war'. To him, conflict between humans was not only normal, it was expected. Whether it was over food, land, love, power, or simply for the sake of itself, conflict was the fulcrum of humanity's existence. But outside the world of men, his understanding had always been more limited. Dwarves were dwarves. Elves were elves.
His own ignorance had never been more apparent to him than at that moment. Kira was on the precipice of watching her own kind tear each other apart.
As they marched across the platform, wagons in tow, the other Durakduran soldiers nodded to them and straightened their backs.
"What is the situation here, Captain Nimara?" Mirlak asked, stopping before he stepped onto the walkway that connected the platform to the refugee quarters.
"At the entrance to the city, Commander? Or between our own?" Nimara held a knowing look in her eyes.
"Both, Captain."
"There has been little trouble with the Belduaran refugees. They seem well aware of their position, but if the food were to run out, I suspect they would do as all dying animals do. The situation with the forces from Ozyrn and Azmar is quite different. I understand why our queen has accepted their aid, but it puts us in a precarious position. The forces of Ozryn have remained reasonably civil, barring a few tense exchanges, but the Azmaran forces have been as tightly wound as a boar's tail – they also arrived with larger numbers than we had expected."
Mirlak nodded, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the crowded platform around him. "Keep a careful watch, Captain. And send word to the queen that we may need reinforcements here."
"Commander?"
"If you fear the darkness, Captain, bring a light. Preparation is nine-tenths of victory."
"Yes, Commander. It will be done."
"See that it is."
As the Queensguard and the column of wagons started to move across the walkway, Nimara grasped Dahlen's arm. "May your fires never be extinguished, Dahlen Virandr."
"And may your blade never dull, Nimara…" Dahlen searched his mind for Nimara's full name but realised he had never asked it, nor had he been told.
"Nimara Kol." The dwarf gave Dahlen a broad smile, the rings in her hair sparkling. His throat tightened as though he was looking down the shaft of an arrow. She was quite beautiful, but more than that, she had a confidence about her, a strength. "Aeson Virandr spoke often of you as we searched those tunnels. You and your brother. And now Queen Kira entrusts you with this task. I hope Hafaesir watches over you, for the man that holds the faith of both a queen and a Rakina is a man I might like to share a tankard of ale with."
Before Dahlen could answer, Nimara had inclined her head and set off back across the platform to carry out Mirlak's instructions. He just stood there for a moment, dumbstruck.
Belina elbowed Dahlen in the ribs, a twisted grin spreading across her face from ear to ear. "She likes you."
"Fuck off, Belina."
"No, I'm jealous. That is a woman. What I wouldn't give for five hours alone with her."
"Five hours?"
"That reaction right there is why she'd be happier with me." Belina gave Dahlen a wink and set off across the walkway, the sound of her laugh following her.
A semi-circular landing jutted from the end of the walkway, connecting to the rock face into which the passageway to the refugee quarters was set. The last time Dahlen had been here, the passageway had been guarded by ten Lorian Kingsguard and a pair of Kira's Queensguard. Now though, what had to be at least two hundred dwarves in full plate occupied the landing. The cloaks of Azmar, Ozryn, and Durakdur were all present. Each queen had sent segments of their own guard.
Nearly a hundred dwarves in crimson cloaks stood facing the passageway, heavy shields planted against the stone before them, thick-shafted spears resting atop the shields. Roughly fifty dwarves in cloaks of green and silver stood to the right of the landing, while half that number in black-trimmed white cloaks guarded the left.
The wagons had halted in the centre of the landing, just before the line of crimson-cloaked Queensguard. Mirlak spoke to one of the dwarves who stepped forward to greet them, then turned to Dahlen. "Now it is your turn."
"My turn?"
"The Belduaran forces blockade the other side. If we are to enter, we will need them to stand down." Mirlak gestured towards the passageway set into the rockface. The dwarves who formed the shield wall across the opening had parted, allowing Dahlen to see the light glinting off steel at the passageway's other end. "They wouldn't spit on me if I was on fire. But for you, they might listen."
Dahlen wasn't so sure. Daymon would just as soon see him hanged. But that depended on what Ihvon had said to the king. Not that Daymon heeded advice either way. But they'd come this far. Dahlen nodded. "All right."
Dahlen drew a lungful of air, then let it out in a short breath, an anxious shiver prickling his skin as he moved past the line of dwarves, Mirlak moving with him.
"You're not leaving me standing there with a bunch of short-tempered dwarves," Belina said, catching up with Dahlen just as he reached the entrance to the passageway. "Besides, your father will kill me if anything happens to you."
Dahlen made to argue but stopped himself. It wasn't worth the effort. The woman was stubborn as a rock. "Fine. Just don't say anything."
"Seen but not heard. My speciality."
Were the situation not so tense, Dahlen might have laughed at that. Instead, he simply gave Belina a short nod and stepped into the passageway. He could hear each beat of his heart hammering in his head. His breath trembled as he exhaled.
Now he was within the bounds of the tunnel, Dahlen could see a line of Kingsguard holding teardrop shaped shields across the opening at the other end, the bluish-green flowerlight reflecting off the burnished steel.
"You're going to have to actually say something," Belina whispered, leaning in. "You know, with your mouth."
"Belina."
"Seen but not heard," Belina whispered again, her voice fading.
Dahlen sucked his cheeks in, biting at the soft flesh, then let out a short breath. "I am Dahlen Virandr," he shouted, his voice rising only just above the thunderous waterfall behind him, reverberating down the smooth-carved stone passageway. "I have come with a peace offering of food from Queen Kira of Durakdur. No more blood needs be spilled. She wishes to talk to King Daymon."
The echoes of Dahlen's voice rang out, then faded. He heard shuffling feet and hushed whispers. Seconds turned to minutes.
"I don't think they heard you," Belina whispered. "Maybe a bit louder?"
"Belina, shut your…" A gap formed in the line of Kingsguard at the other end of the passageway, and two figures stepped through, their faces shrouded in shadow against the backdrop of flowerlight.
Dahlen's eyes adjusted, and he made out the faces of Lumeera Arian and Oleg Marylin – the new Lord Captain of the Kingsguard, and the emissary to the Freehold.
"It is good to see you alive, Lord Virandr." Lumeera stood a good twenty feet from Dahlen, but her voice carried through the stone passage, the sound of crashing water filling the air around them. The woman stood with her hand resting on the pommel of the sword at her hip, her purple cloak rippling in the backflow of air that swept through the city from the Wind Tunnels.
"As it is you, Lumeera. I would speak to Daymon. I bring food and a message from Queen Kira."
"He has been expecting you," the woman called back. So Ihvon did tell him I was alive. "You and the food may enter, but the queen's guards must stay."
"I cannot allow that," Mirlak bellowed, shifting his feet. "Dahlen Virandr and Belina Louna are envoys of the queen, and as such are under the protection of the Queensguard."
"They come alone or they do not come at all."
"We accompany them," Mirlak called back, holding his breath for a moment. "Or you starve."
Dahlen glanced at the commander of the Queensguard, but Mirlak's gaze was fixed on the other end of the tunnel.
Whispers passed between Lumeera and Oleg, tension in their voices.
"Ten of your guard may accompany them. No more," Lumeera called out.
"A good offer," Dahlen whispered to Mirlak.
"Twenty," Mirlak shouted, before turning to Dahlen, whispering, "If things take a turn in there, we'll be glad of every axe."
"Fifteen."
"We take twenty or you starve, Belduaran. Your choice."
"Why are you even negotiating?" Belina whispered to Mirlak. "It's not as if they have anything to negotiate with. You have food, they're starving."
"If we wish to talk with their king in good faith, that is the way we must start. I do not want to see them starve. It was not long ago I fought beside them in the courtyards of Belduar."
"Twenty." Without another word, Lumeera and Oleg turned and walked back towards the refugee quarters, the gap in the Kingsguard's line remaining after they'd passed through.
Mirlak gathered nineteen of his guard, Yoring and Almer among them, and signalled for the wagons to start moving as he, Belina, and Dahlen made their way through the passageway to the other side.
The familiar wave of heat washed over Dahlen as he stepped from the passageway and onto the top of the stone staircase that descended into the refugee quarters, the stench of sewage and sweat clinging to the back of his throat.
Rows of Kingsguard in burnished steel plate, purple cloaks resting on their shoulders, filled the landing at the top of the staircase and down the stairs, leaving an unbroken line through the centre where Oleg and Lumeera were now walking. Dahlen stopped for a moment, looking out over the cavernous chamber that was the refugee quarters of Durakdur.
For the first time since he had come to this place with Ihvon, the enormous central street that stretched off into the distance, was all but empty. Tents were pitched here and there, likely where the soldiers and new arrivals had been sleeping, and some refugees walked about, but for the most part it was barren. Above, thousands and thousands of eyes stared down as people flocked to the parapets of the many walkways of the upper levels. Somehow, even with this many people all gathered in one place, Dahlen could barely hear a whisper. The only sounds were slaps of feet on stone, the squeaking of wagon axles, and the clip of virtuk hooves.
"By Hafaesir." Mirlak covered his mouth and nose with his hand. "What is that smell?"
"Shit, soup, and sweat," Dahlen said, repeating the words Ihvon had said the first time Dahlen had visited the refugee quarters. "When you squeeze forty thousand souls into a cavern with little ventilation, the damp from the waterfall, and no sewage system, this is what happens. Take away their food, and that last scent clinging to your nose is death. Aside from the soldiers, many of the people here are old or sick, some with young families that couldn't travel to the other kingdoms."
Mirlak took his hand from his nose and looked up at the many people who lined the rising walkways. "I am sorry. I didn't know. May Heraya watch over them."
Dahlen gave Mirlak a weak smile then set off down the staircase after Oleg and Lumeera.
"What about the wagons?" Belina asked, looking back at virtuk-drawn wagons of food.
"The mages will flatten the stairs," Dahlen said, without looking back. "Only takes a few moments."
"Did nobody think of this glaring design flaw? I mean, it's clearly not conducive to getting wagons in and out."
"It's not a design flaw." Mirlak, Yoring, Almer, and the other Queensguard around them were listening. Dahlen could see the tilt of their heads. "It's about control. Many of Belduar's mages were killed in attacks on the city. Having stairs instead of ramps kept the dwarves in control of the food."
None of the dwarves spoke, but Dahlen saw the looks on their faces as they descended the stairs, Belduaran Kingsguard standing on either side, backs stiff, shields held high. In that situation, Dahlen would have expected to see fear or anxiety, or even animosity – they were walking into the belly of the beast, surrounded by enemies – but instead, all he saw was shame.
"Dahlen Virandr, risen from the dead." Daymon's voice echoed through the enormous cavern, amplified two-fold by the emptiness. Daymon stood at the bottom of the staircase, dressed neck to toe in gold-trimmed plate as though he was marching to war. Ihvon stood on Daymon's left, Lumeera and Oleg on the right. Along with several Kingsguard, a number of others that Dahlen vaguely recognised were gathered around the man: nobles and advisors. From his memory, some were decent, but just as many were little more than sycophants trying to worm their way into Daymon's graces now that his father was gone.
"Daymon." Regardless of the circumstances, Dahlen still couldn't bring himself to call Daymon a king. The title burned like acid on his tongue. "I come on behalf of Queen Kira. I am here to talk of peace, should you be willing."
"Is this her attempting to insult me once more?" Daymon took a step forward, the Kingsguard moving in line. "She will not even come herself? And what if I don't wish to talk of peace? What then, Dahlen Virandr?"
"Then you will allow your people to starve." If Dahlen had heard no whispers before, they now filled the cavern, blustering like a gale. Daymon's demeanour shifted in an instant, the bravado evaporating from his face as he looked up at the walkways above.
"Come, then, and we will see what the dwarf queen has to say."
"She wishes to embarrass me in front of my people!" Daymon roared, veins bulging in his forehead and temple, spittle flying. His face was red, fists clenched. He had brought Dahlen, Belina, and Mirlak to a large rectangular room on the second floor of the cavern – a room which, judging by the marks on the floor, had once slept at least ten people.
Ihvon, Oleg, and Lumeera stood to Daymon's left, on the opposite side of the room, while some of the other nobles stood against the walls, offering tssks and grunts when appropriate. Dahlen counted sixteen Kingsguard, all with their hands resting on the pommels of their swords.
"She wishes to feed your people, Daymon!" Dahlen was doing all he could to remain calm and level, but Daymon's idiocy was making that a challenge.
"I'm no fool. She attacked us, took our food, and now holds it ransom. She wishes to show my people that she can care for them where I cannot. No. I will not have it!"
"Daymon, please. Think of—"
"I am your king!" Daymon roared, cutting Ihvon off mid-sentence, his hands trembling. "Would you have me bow before her too? Have me spit on my father's legacy?"
"She took you in, Daymon. When the dragons laid waste to your city, she took you in." Dahlen tried to cut the tension in the room. "The dwarves carved a refuge for you in their home. They gave you food, shelter, water. They asked for nothing in return. Is that not enough to show their intention?"
"Their intention? They sent an assassin after me. They fired bolts through my men. They herded us into this pen of their making, and now they lord over us, letting us starve, then offering us food so that we are beholden to them."
You know damn well who sent that assassin. Dahlen ground his teeth. Holding his temper was no easy task when faced with a man who lied as easily as he drew breath. It would have been simple to call Daymon out before his nobles and Kingsguard. To tell the whole room of his deal with Pulroan. But it would still be his word against Daymon's, and Dahlen would likely end up with his hands bound again or hanging from a noose. Not only that, but even if the others believed him, it would serve no purpose. The tension between the dwarves and the people of Belduar was already at a height – revealing that Belduar's king was involved in a plot with Pulroan would only lead to more blood.
"Making peace doesn't show weakness," Dahlen said. "It shows strength. It shows that you put your people's needs before your pride." Silence filled the air, all eyes moving from Dahlen to Daymon. "Kira wishes to end this. She offers you food, peace, respite. Too much blood has been spilled already, Daymon. All she wants in return is that you come to her aid if she calls."
"She wants my fealty." Daymon's lip trembled as he spoke the words, his jaw tensing, veins throbbing. "She spits on my father's legacy. We should carve our way out. Show them the power of Belduar."
Something snapped inside Dahlen.
"It is you who spits on your father's legacy!" The Kingsguards stepped from the walls as Dahlen drew closer to Daymon, matching the man's stare. "Arthur was wise, caring, and strong. He put his people first. Not himself. He was everything you are not." Dahlen jabbed his finger against Daymon's breastplate. To his surprise the Kingsguard didn't move to stop him. They just watched, ready if the situation escalated further. "Do you care so little for these men and women at your side that you would have them die for your pride and your pride alone? You would have them starve just to make a point? You would have them bleed so you would not seem weak? You're a fucking coward!"
"Get out!" Daymon roared, his face inches from Dahlen's, his eyes bloodshot, his hands shaking. "All of you, out!"