Chapter IV
Baden worried Ironfist would be crowded with dark faces and bitter eyes upon his departure. The walk from his den to the Cloudgate was a long one – it would feel infinitely longer should he march forward under such acrimony. Baden could face orc and troll – he had done so, many times – but he feared his ability to face accusation in the eyes of his fellow dwarves.
And so he had spent these last few hours before dawn alone, in silent prayer to the Forge Father. Baden sought to prepare himself for the journey toward the sole exit - he vowed to ignore any and all catcalls, to meet no dwarf’s gaze, to push onward in silence until gaining the mountain passes outside the Halls. In many ways, he feared, these first few steps of his trek to Val Hor might prove the most difficult.
He need not have worried.
Five dwarves stood near the Cloudgate. Only five. Otherwise, the Halls of Ironfist were deserted and silent.
Baden stopped before the small group, beneath the portcullis. “Shen tu fundin, Tamil.”
“Shen tu fundin.”
Baden paused, and then - “Thank you, Tamil.”
Tamil was prepared to depart Ironfist with a nil-thain, but he was evidently not prepared to accept gratitude. The young dwarf turned without replying and busied himself with his pony’s kit and bridle.
Baden turned to another member of the five – Ironfist’s cratered-faced stablehand. The dwarf was old, his skin as mottled as a cistern pipe. The left side of his face was missing – he had only one eye, one cheek, and one ear. His beard, the color of slate, did not grow upon the scar tissue.
Baden had met the stablehand the previous night; he knew his name to mean ‘half-dwarf’ in the tongue of their people. Half a dwarf he is, Baden thought, and still half a dwarf more than meself.
- Self-pity does not become you.
I’m still learnin’.
“Thank you, Master Havdurv,” Baden said, accepting his pony’s reins. The stablehand ignored him, of course – there were precious few who would speak to a nil-thain. Once Baden had the reins, the old dwarf departed without a backward glance.
Leaving four of them, not including Baden himself. Tamil, he knew. The other dwarves were unknown to him, and one wore a full-faced helm that hid his countenance. Why are they here?
One of the dwarves answered his unasked question. “I am Hoth, a Captain of Ironfist, and my liege had commanded I accompany you as far as Val Hor, that we may learn the wisdom – or lack thereof – of the human known as Destan the Grim.”
Baden nodded. “Your King does me a great kindness, and your axe is welcomed.”
“My King seeks to accomplish what he believes to be right for our clan. See that you do not dishonor the trust he places in you.” Hoth’s voice was as stern as his face.
Baden nodded, unsure how to respond.
A second dwarf stepped forward. “I am Pemm, called the Tall.”
And indeed he was. Baden looked up at Pemm’s young face. “You wear the robes of a priest of Moradin.”
“Moradin’s Word has spoken. I am commanded to accompany you to the White City, so that – should the Forge Father grant you his forgiveness – one of the cloth might bear witness.” Pemm’s tone indicated, without doubt, that he had few hopes of recording such an event.
Baden had never before been exposed to the scrutiny of the Church, and he found he did not like the newfound attention. Although the presence of a cleric could assist their chances during the upcoming journey, Baden would have preferred to be escorted only by warriors. Baden never had problems being judged by warriors – but priests of his god were a different matter altogether. Yet how do I tell him that he may remain here?
- You don’t.
For once, Baden agreed with the elf-spirit Ilvar. “Brother Pemm, you - and His Grace Hammergarden – also have my thanks.”
Now, then, the final dwarf; Baden turned to the helmed warrior. “And you, sir, you also wish to accompany me?”
“No,” came a muffled voice.
The dwarf reached up and removed the great helm. “But I do wish to offer you good fortune,” said Dereth Droggison, Dwarfprince of Axemarch. “And know that, should I ascend to my father’s throne, you will be nil-thain no longer.”
Baden was quiet for a long moment. There were a great many things he wanted to say, but, in the end, Baden merely bowed.
And then the four of them – Baden, Tamil, Hoth and Pemm the Tall - departed Ironfist for the lands of men.
***
Hoth laughed. “I sounded mighty official back there, did I not?”
Baden squinted toward the red-bearded dwarf as the ponies picked their way down the side of the Balantir Cor. He was uncertain what to say.
Hoth, apparently, was not one to wait for a response. “There’s a trick to it, friend Baden, and an easy one.”
“A trick to what?”
“To soundin’ official, of course.” Hoth’s face tightened as he assumed the countenance he had worn when first meeting Baden. “Ye gotta close her eyes just a bit, and clench your teeth as if ye was sittin’ on the privy. Like so. Then you just use words bigger than what is needed, and you frown the whole time as if ye was passing peach pits.”
Baden smiled in spite of himself. Hoth’s demeanor was a welcomed counterpoint to the dismal weather surrounding their descent. Tamil lacked much in the way of humor, and Pemm’s self-imposed silence bordered on belligerence, but Hoth…Hoth just might make the journey to Val Hor somewhat tolerable.
“An example,” Baden said.
“Eh?”
“Give me an example.”
“Oh.” Hoth chewed on his beard. “Alright, let’s say you want a young dwarf to gather firewood. You could just say – ‘Hey, you, get some firewood.’” Hoth looked askance at Baden as if to ensure he was listening. “But, ‘tis better if you say,” and then Hoth once again twisted his face into a mask of haughty resolve, “’Young one, see to it that we have enough wood for the fire, ‘lest I be forced to feed your toes to the flames for fuel.’”
“That was a rather poor example.”
“Well,” Hoth answered amiably, “I lacked much in the way of time to think on it.”
“Still,” Baden agreed with a wry smile, “I believe you are on to something.”
Hoth waved a hand. “Of course I am. How else do ye think I became Captain? It wasn’t my good looks.”
“No,” Baden agreed, smiling, “it wasn’t that.”
The four dwarves finished their descent later that day. The Weedsea spread outward from their position, suffocating under a blanket of mist. The snowfall outside the Cloudgate was a cold drizzle here in the lowlands. Baden was soaked to the bone, his beard a mat of fur lying heavy and wet upon Borbidan’s regalia.
“What day is it?” Baden realized he had not known the date since…since leaving Ciddry for Aramin’s tent.
“The tenth of Uktar,” Tamil replied.
Hoth nodded. “We should be drinking the swill Valudians call beer in, oh, twelve days.”
Baden urged his pony forward onto the grasses. “I want to stay off the roads.”
“Did I say ‘twelve days’?” Hoth raised a forearm to wipe rainwater from his brow. “Better make it twenty. No roads, eh? Care to tell us why?”
Baden remembered Wilan’s warning – the half-elf had said many of the roadways were watched. “It will be safer for us.”
“Safer?” Tamil frowned. “Safer to leave the roads than to stay on them? Do not these humans patrol their own tradeways?”
“They do,” Baden answered, “which is why we will remain off them.”
Hoth shrugged. “Then let us hope this wonderful, miserable weather holds.”
***
The blizzard – the first of the year - arrived two days later.
Baden pushed through the snow like a man fighting against a river’s current. His pony trailed behind him, tugging at the reins, eyes wide with terror from the storm. Baden could empathize with his mount; there were few things more naturally terrifying than being caught beneath a lightning snowstorm, at night, on the midst of the central Valusian plains.
A black shadow rose upward before him. At first Baden thought it to be a lone tree – as odd as such flora might be upon the prairies – but he soon recognized it for a ruined tower. The fierceness of the tempest made his decision easy. “A tower!” he called, his voice being ripped away by the wind, “Make for the tower!”
He was uncertain whether his companions heard him – they, too, were struggling with their mounts – but only a blind man would have had trouble following the path he carved through the gathering snow. Which, Baden inwardly worried, was both good and-
“Behind us!” The urgency in Tamil’s shouted warning rose above the screaming winds. “Wolves!”
-bad.
Baden dropped the reins of his pony, the beast forgotten. He unstrapped his axe, pushed past Pemm, and made his way backward along their trail until he stood between Hoth and Tamil. Baden, his back now to the wind, surveyed the blackness. For long moments the three dwarves stood, shoulder-to-shoulder, as snow pelted their faces and gathered upon their shoulders.
“They aren’t wolves.”
Tamil shook the snow from his beard. “They are, Baden – I saw them.”
“How many?”
“Two.”
“Three,” Hoth corrected. “One swung ‘round our flank.”
Baden looked in the direction Hoth indicated. It was no use; darkvision was much more useful in the confined corridors of the underground than here upon wide plains. Fear began to grow into a knot in Baden’s stomach. “Hoth, bring Pemm forward – we must not lose one another!”
Moments after Hoth disappeared, Baden discerned a figure moving toward them through the blizzard - neither dwarf nor wolf nor infernal ice hound. Horned, it was. And tall. Slender as pain. In the snowstorm all was black, or white, or some mixture thereof – which made the creature’s sickly amber eyes all the more remarkable. In Baden’s mind, Ilvar whimpered.
“By Moradin’s burnt brows,” Tamil swore, “what is it?”
Baden recalled Anar’s tales of the Dreth – those fell creatures who lead wolven on the hunt. “A Horned Hunter,” he shouted over the growing wind.
Hoth returned with Pemm in time to hear Baden’s words. “What does he hunt?”
Baden did not answer – there was no need. “Get back-to-back, boys, and do it quick-like. Pemm, into the middle – there ye go. They seek to surround us – most like they already have. Be ready, be strong, and – for the love of our bearded god – do not move from this spot.”
If we’re to die, let it be here, together.
* Author's Note: This last update was, as it were, intended for the cutting room floor. I was thinking of posting it as an attachment after the real Chapter IV, wherein the group is reunited. The problem is that Baden did quite a bit of solo adventuring before meeting up with the rest of the players, and I've been torn how to address that fact - do I gloss over it, or do I provide detailed updates? In the end, I think, I'll do a little of both. Since it's been a long, long while since I last updated, I think it was time for me to put something up here - hence this, Baden-dominated Chapter IV. Hope you like it, and thanks for sticking with me.
And when will it be released?
