4x03
The group watched Corani in stunned silence as she stood over the executed derro prisoner. Then Mena turned to the dwarf. "Blood has been shed," she said. "Let us see that it was not shed in vain."
Arden looked away, only to see the dead dwarves. Between that sight and the summary execution of the prisoner, she felt unbalanced, like the ground under her feet had shifted.
Savina was looking at the dead dwarves, too. "We must bury them," she said softly. "Arden, help me."
They all helped, finishing the task Corani had started: gathering the dwarven bodies together and piling rocks over them into a low cairn. When they had finished their work, they formed a rough circle around the pile of stones, awaiting – with unspoken agreement – what came next. Mena alone walked quietly away, taking up a position at the edge of the clearing.
Arden looked at Kormick.
Everyone looked at Kormick.
"Justicar," said Savina, gently urging.
"Yes, Blessed Daughter? What can I do for you?"
"The funeral prayers . . . ?"
"Me? Oh, no no no, dear girl, I wouldn't know what to say. Surely you, as a priestess – "
"But you serve Kettenek."
Kormick looked at Savina blankly.
"The god of the dead?" Tavi prompted.
"—What? I mean, right. The god of the dead. Of course he is." Kormick dug around in his pack and produced a small, shiny Kettenite holy text that looked suspiciously pristine. He began to flip through it, muttering chapter headings to himself.
Arden wasn't sure whether she felt more like laughing or weeping. Alleged the Just strikes again, she thought, but she couldn't help rooting for him.
"You see, in Dar Und, we don't have a lot of funerals per se," Kormick muttered, still flipping pages. "Unmarked graves are more popular – ah ha, here we are. Basic funerary rites. Ho-kay, we begin: 'Earth Father, Ground of Being, Heart of Stone . . . '"
Savina translated his words into Dwarven for Corani. She was probably glossing over the rough parts and adding in a few soothing phrases of her own, Arden guessed, because Corani didn't look offended despite Alleged's halting, unconvincing delivery. The instant the Justicar snapped the book shut with a sigh of relief, however, Corani turned to Savina.
“Now I must save my family from their captors. I would value your aid if you would give it. If not, I understand, and will go alone.”
Arden eyed Corani, each hand resting on the handle of an axe, her pregnant – very pregnant – belly protruding before her. The dwarf could hardly walk, let alone fight. If the freepeople won't help her . . . . The thought unbalanced Arden again. Semi-consciously, her hand gripped the cuff on her other wrist, running her thumb over the metal.
But Mena did not hesitate. “Of course we will help you,” she said.
Twiggy and Kormick made short work of discovering the trail left by the derro party who had attacked Corani's family. The group set off as fast as Corani could walk.
As they hiked, and lost the trail, and found it again, the freepeople conversed.
Mena told Twiggy, "I know you were uncomfortable with killing the prisoner, but it was necessary to allow Corani to focus."
"I understand,” said Twiggy. “But you know me: I need to know the reasons for things.” She paused. "And I know we have to help these people, not least because Corani’s husband might know the way to the Spring. But . . . that means we might have to kill more derro, doesn’t it.”
"Innocent lives are at stake," said Mena.
"Of course. But attacking things in their own home, even to help others – is that right?"
"Yes," said Kormick flatly.
Twiggy hesitated. Then she asked, "Exactly what are the qualifications for becoming a Justicar in Dar Und?"
"Wanting to be," answered Kormick. Arden stifled a laugh. Then he grew more expansive. "Actually, I stalked them," he said. "I sat outside the Temple for weeks. I made sure they knew that I wouldn't leave until they let me in. After they accepted me, I began learning all those skills that one needs to know as a servant of Kettenek: justice . . . smiting . . . bribery . . . planting evidence . . . "
"So," said Twiggy, "when you say that it's all right for us to attack the derro in their own home, is that your official legal opinion, or your Undian – "
"Corani has accepted our assistance," said Mena. "We are therefore obliged to help her combat this great evil. If we must combat it with a lesser evil, so be it."
"I guess that makes sense," Twiggy conceded, but she had one more question. "Should we be letting Corani take this into her own hands? Especially when she's pregnant?"
Mena opened her mouth to respond, but Kormick beat her to it. "If someone killed a member of my family," said the Justicar, "I would need to do what she's doing."
Twiggy commented, "That sounds like the voice of experience."
Kormick spoke quietly. "No matter what I had to do, no matter what insane job I had to take . . . I would not rest until I had found that person."
His voice carried finality with it. Silence followed.
Twilight fell, deepening to darkness.
The thought of the dwarves, especially the children, in the hands of derro captors was haunting them all. No one suggested stopping to rest. Twiggy saw easily at night and, with Kormick's help, she continued to track the derro.
As she followed the others in silence, Arden's arm throbbed dully where the scout had shot it that morning, and her energy, already low, waned further. She fell into a tired trance, the hours slipping past marked only by the rhythm of her feet. As midnight neared, a slaves' work-song began repeating itself endlessly in time with her steps . . .
One day when I was young and free,
Four spirits came to visit me:
A flame burned down my garden gate,
A voice of stone declared my fate,
The flowers hung their heads and cried,
The wind blew whispers, and I sighed--
The trail dead-ended at a rock wall split by a crevice plunging into blackness. Arden froze, staring.
"Ah," whispered Kormick. "This calls for someone small, sneaky, and expendable."
Everyone looked at her, but memory had swelled up in Arden's chest until she felt she would choke. She could barely whisper, "I beg you, please, don't make me."
She knew what was coming next. One of them would strike her and she would fall. They would kick her and repeat the order, pointing at the narrow tunnel. She would plead with them. They would kick her again and again until something cracked in her chest and in sheer terror of that grating brokenness she would creep, cringing, into the darkness.
Instead, the Justicar gave her a mildly curious look, and then Twiggy volunteered to send her mouse to investigate.
As the mouse held a silent conversation with his mistress and then scurried down the tunnel, Arden fought to pull herself back to the present. I'm in the Ketkath Mountains. This is a different place, a different time.
The mouse returned, and Twiggy relayed his news: the passageway led down into the mountain before reaching a chamber where four armed derro were standing guard over three doors in the eerie light of a glowing fungus.
"Well, this will be no problem," said Kormick, with false cheer.
"Yeah," said Tavi, with real cheer. "We go in and display our wrath, they cower in fear, and it's all over."
"I'm not sure I have wrath," said Savina solemnly. "But I've been told that Alirria does."
"Trust me, look deep enough inside yourself, and you'll find your hate," said Kormick. His jovial tone faded as he spoke; his voice grew grim.
"We should discuss tactics," Mena proposed, equally grim.
As the conference continued, Arden began to accept, first, that their trail led into that hole. Second, that the others were going to go in. Third, that they might not force her to join them: they might give her a choice.
And fourth, that she already knew what the right choice was.
She laid her hand on the mule's halter and muttered something to the Blessed Daughter about tethering him nearby. She led the mule into the trees and tied him to a sturdy spruce, barely remembering to poke at the tree first to make sure it didn't poke back.
Then she knelt down and prayed, long and hard. By the time she opened her eyes, she had been gone many minutes, and no one had come to find her. They're distracted – I could run, she thought. She smiled, nearly laughing, her amusement sincere, though as dark as the night. Gods, I could run.
She stood, patted the mule, and walked back to the group. In the back of her mind, the song resumed keeping time with her footsteps.
I still pray to the holy four,
But I am young and free no more.
Oh friend, if spirits visit, hide,
For since that day, my hope has died.
The group had all drawn their weapons; they were just waiting for her. "Are you all right?" whispered Savina. The compassion in the girl's voice was startling and painful, a whipstrike. "I will be," Arden muttered, looking away.
The Justicar caught her eye and jerked his head, indicating that she should join him.
Arden nodded agreement. Her heart racing, she forced herself to take her place by Kormick at the front.
The two of them led the way into the darkness.
The group watched Corani in stunned silence as she stood over the executed derro prisoner. Then Mena turned to the dwarf. "Blood has been shed," she said. "Let us see that it was not shed in vain."
Arden looked away, only to see the dead dwarves. Between that sight and the summary execution of the prisoner, she felt unbalanced, like the ground under her feet had shifted.
Savina was looking at the dead dwarves, too. "We must bury them," she said softly. "Arden, help me."
They all helped, finishing the task Corani had started: gathering the dwarven bodies together and piling rocks over them into a low cairn. When they had finished their work, they formed a rough circle around the pile of stones, awaiting – with unspoken agreement – what came next. Mena alone walked quietly away, taking up a position at the edge of the clearing.
Arden looked at Kormick.
Everyone looked at Kormick.
"Justicar," said Savina, gently urging.
"Yes, Blessed Daughter? What can I do for you?"
"The funeral prayers . . . ?"
"Me? Oh, no no no, dear girl, I wouldn't know what to say. Surely you, as a priestess – "
"But you serve Kettenek."
Kormick looked at Savina blankly.
"The god of the dead?" Tavi prompted.
"—What? I mean, right. The god of the dead. Of course he is." Kormick dug around in his pack and produced a small, shiny Kettenite holy text that looked suspiciously pristine. He began to flip through it, muttering chapter headings to himself.
Arden wasn't sure whether she felt more like laughing or weeping. Alleged the Just strikes again, she thought, but she couldn't help rooting for him.
"You see, in Dar Und, we don't have a lot of funerals per se," Kormick muttered, still flipping pages. "Unmarked graves are more popular – ah ha, here we are. Basic funerary rites. Ho-kay, we begin: 'Earth Father, Ground of Being, Heart of Stone . . . '"
Savina translated his words into Dwarven for Corani. She was probably glossing over the rough parts and adding in a few soothing phrases of her own, Arden guessed, because Corani didn't look offended despite Alleged's halting, unconvincing delivery. The instant the Justicar snapped the book shut with a sigh of relief, however, Corani turned to Savina.
“Now I must save my family from their captors. I would value your aid if you would give it. If not, I understand, and will go alone.”
Arden eyed Corani, each hand resting on the handle of an axe, her pregnant – very pregnant – belly protruding before her. The dwarf could hardly walk, let alone fight. If the freepeople won't help her . . . . The thought unbalanced Arden again. Semi-consciously, her hand gripped the cuff on her other wrist, running her thumb over the metal.
But Mena did not hesitate. “Of course we will help you,” she said.
Twiggy and Kormick made short work of discovering the trail left by the derro party who had attacked Corani's family. The group set off as fast as Corani could walk.
As they hiked, and lost the trail, and found it again, the freepeople conversed.
Mena told Twiggy, "I know you were uncomfortable with killing the prisoner, but it was necessary to allow Corani to focus."
"I understand,” said Twiggy. “But you know me: I need to know the reasons for things.” She paused. "And I know we have to help these people, not least because Corani’s husband might know the way to the Spring. But . . . that means we might have to kill more derro, doesn’t it.”
"Innocent lives are at stake," said Mena.
"Of course. But attacking things in their own home, even to help others – is that right?"
"Yes," said Kormick flatly.
Twiggy hesitated. Then she asked, "Exactly what are the qualifications for becoming a Justicar in Dar Und?"
"Wanting to be," answered Kormick. Arden stifled a laugh. Then he grew more expansive. "Actually, I stalked them," he said. "I sat outside the Temple for weeks. I made sure they knew that I wouldn't leave until they let me in. After they accepted me, I began learning all those skills that one needs to know as a servant of Kettenek: justice . . . smiting . . . bribery . . . planting evidence . . . "
"So," said Twiggy, "when you say that it's all right for us to attack the derro in their own home, is that your official legal opinion, or your Undian – "
"Corani has accepted our assistance," said Mena. "We are therefore obliged to help her combat this great evil. If we must combat it with a lesser evil, so be it."
"I guess that makes sense," Twiggy conceded, but she had one more question. "Should we be letting Corani take this into her own hands? Especially when she's pregnant?"
Mena opened her mouth to respond, but Kormick beat her to it. "If someone killed a member of my family," said the Justicar, "I would need to do what she's doing."
Twiggy commented, "That sounds like the voice of experience."
Kormick spoke quietly. "No matter what I had to do, no matter what insane job I had to take . . . I would not rest until I had found that person."
His voice carried finality with it. Silence followed.
Twilight fell, deepening to darkness.
The thought of the dwarves, especially the children, in the hands of derro captors was haunting them all. No one suggested stopping to rest. Twiggy saw easily at night and, with Kormick's help, she continued to track the derro.
As she followed the others in silence, Arden's arm throbbed dully where the scout had shot it that morning, and her energy, already low, waned further. She fell into a tired trance, the hours slipping past marked only by the rhythm of her feet. As midnight neared, a slaves' work-song began repeating itself endlessly in time with her steps . . .
One day when I was young and free,
Four spirits came to visit me:
A flame burned down my garden gate,
A voice of stone declared my fate,
The flowers hung their heads and cried,
The wind blew whispers, and I sighed--
The trail dead-ended at a rock wall split by a crevice plunging into blackness. Arden froze, staring.
"Ah," whispered Kormick. "This calls for someone small, sneaky, and expendable."
Everyone looked at her, but memory had swelled up in Arden's chest until she felt she would choke. She could barely whisper, "I beg you, please, don't make me."
She knew what was coming next. One of them would strike her and she would fall. They would kick her and repeat the order, pointing at the narrow tunnel. She would plead with them. They would kick her again and again until something cracked in her chest and in sheer terror of that grating brokenness she would creep, cringing, into the darkness.
Instead, the Justicar gave her a mildly curious look, and then Twiggy volunteered to send her mouse to investigate.
As the mouse held a silent conversation with his mistress and then scurried down the tunnel, Arden fought to pull herself back to the present. I'm in the Ketkath Mountains. This is a different place, a different time.
The mouse returned, and Twiggy relayed his news: the passageway led down into the mountain before reaching a chamber where four armed derro were standing guard over three doors in the eerie light of a glowing fungus.
"Well, this will be no problem," said Kormick, with false cheer.
"Yeah," said Tavi, with real cheer. "We go in and display our wrath, they cower in fear, and it's all over."
"I'm not sure I have wrath," said Savina solemnly. "But I've been told that Alirria does."
"Trust me, look deep enough inside yourself, and you'll find your hate," said Kormick. His jovial tone faded as he spoke; his voice grew grim.
"We should discuss tactics," Mena proposed, equally grim.
As the conference continued, Arden began to accept, first, that their trail led into that hole. Second, that the others were going to go in. Third, that they might not force her to join them: they might give her a choice.
And fourth, that she already knew what the right choice was.
She laid her hand on the mule's halter and muttered something to the Blessed Daughter about tethering him nearby. She led the mule into the trees and tied him to a sturdy spruce, barely remembering to poke at the tree first to make sure it didn't poke back.
Then she knelt down and prayed, long and hard. By the time she opened her eyes, she had been gone many minutes, and no one had come to find her. They're distracted – I could run, she thought. She smiled, nearly laughing, her amusement sincere, though as dark as the night. Gods, I could run.
She stood, patted the mule, and walked back to the group. In the back of her mind, the song resumed keeping time with her footsteps.
I still pray to the holy four,
But I am young and free no more.
Oh friend, if spirits visit, hide,
For since that day, my hope has died.
The group had all drawn their weapons; they were just waiting for her. "Are you all right?" whispered Savina. The compassion in the girl's voice was startling and painful, a whipstrike. "I will be," Arden muttered, looking away.
The Justicar caught her eye and jerked his head, indicating that she should join him.
Arden nodded agreement. Her heart racing, she forced herself to take her place by Kormick at the front.
The two of them led the way into the darkness.
)
