Book 6: Chapter 42 - Schism (RAW)

Chapter 42 - Schism

Not of their people, he will come through a green that burns. He will tear down the laws of forge and iron. He will raise something new and terrible. He will let the eaters of stone remember that Justice can be found even deep even in the Earth Mother’s embrace.

- Attributed to the Wrack Witch before her execution circa 245 AC.

Damien and the King withdrew to an antechamber, the chamberlain scurrying after them.

Squeeze them for all they are worth.

And so it was that the men accepted bread and water. I did not, snidely refusing, hand half-raised to backhand the sniveling dwarf servant if he pressed the issue. I did not care. I did not believe in guarantees backed only by words. Furthermore, I needed no protection, and the people in this hall, if they could be called people, knew it.

“Will you tell us of the world beyond the mountain?” the Dwarven queen asked, her voice ever so slightly tremulous.

By custom, guests repaid hospitality with word of the wider world. Our welcome had been poor indeed, and Larynda—ever the bubbling font of friendliness—smiled and drew breath to speak until I squeezed her shoulder and silenced her. There was no need to be a gracious guest for such a gracious host.

“The sun shines. It rains on occasion. A jungle burns because I will it,” I said, my voice a challenge. “And now, with that off my chest, I feel like killing something.”

The queen blanched, then forced a smile. “So that was your doing? There has been smoke for days—the jungles pushed back. Goblins have ever been a nuisance on our borders,” she laughed weakly. “Perhaps we are in your debt.”

“Every second you breathe is a second I allow you. That is your debt to me, and that is my grace,” I answered, my smile a razor’s edge. “Where are my manners—how am I to address you? You are meant to be a queen.”

A hiss and titter went through the courtiers as they stared at me with studied shock. They did not stare long. I no longer needed Improved Entropic Aura to exude dread; it had become a part of me.

“There are to be no threats of violence in this hall. This is a place of peace and discussion,” she sniffed primly, though fear danced in her eyes.

Improved Dash answered her; to her sight, it would have seemed I simply appeared a few steps before her as I crossed the distance between us.

“If that were true,” I said, pointing toward the black-armored warriors, “then explain the presence of those. They are not the products of peace and discussion. Offer us better fare than bread and water, or I will take my enjoyment here and now.”

Her veil hid much, but not the indignation burning in her eyes.

The Runed Warriors lifted their heavy weapons, menacing. Some notables and courtiers began edging toward the doors.

“Gilgamesh!” Larynda cried in warning.

“It is the King’s order,” the queen said, voice flat but still regal. “The Runed are here because there are those like you who would disturb the peace of these halls.”

I sneered and took a step back. 

She flicked her fingers, and the armored brutes stood down. “It is childish and boorish of you to act so. Do you not know simple manners? Or is this an affliction of your kind, that you rage when you do not get what you want?”

“And it is boorish that I have yet to hear the name of who it is that addresses me,” I countered.

The little woman straightened atop her throne. “I am Queen Lauline, whoever you are.”

I tilted my head and laughed. “And, I will not tolerate racial prejudice, and I will not tolerate insult. I am the doom that walks, woman, and do not pretend you do not know of me.” I pointed to the pair of heavy warriors armored in Adamantine. “They cannot protect you; not even a legion of them could. I am a Dragonslayer. Give my men better fare that is not a rudeness—or so help me…”

“Gilgamesh! Please,” my ward begged, her voice cutting.

“Please, what? I have done nothing wrong,” I responded, throwing up my hands as I sauntered back. “We have travelled far and suffered much to come here. Bring us better food and drink that is not an insult. if you value your lives. Your king does this to provoke me. Know that I am now suitably provoked. I do not fear breaking your laws; all I need to do is face the excuse you call judgment once more and the slate will be once again wiped clean. Test me at your peril.”

“You dare…” Lauline hissed, spine finally stiffening.

But there must have been something in my voice, perhaps the casual way I spoke of slaughter as if discussing the weather, for resignation settled on her shoulders.

“Lay the tables. Bring our guests refreshment,” the queen commanded at last.

I smiled at Larynda. She only shook her head. Cordelia wore an enigmatic smile—the look of one who has glimpsed the rapture. As for the men of the Scale, their faces were a smorgasbord of emotion: fear, relief, worry, tension. All of those emotions were threaded together in a single tapestry.

Low tables were brought, carried in by gray-aproned servants with the hunched shuffle of the small who have learned to be smaller. Platters followed—sweetened, unleavened flatbreads still warm from the stone; bowls of honey-glazed nuts that clacked like small bones when poured; and a shallow tray of little pink mushrooms that looked for all the world like berries. Pitchers came last: one of water, clear as glass; two of beer, black and glossy as lamp oil.

Dwarven beer. It struck the nose like a brawler’s punch.

“Water it,” a man of the Scale explained. “Half and half if you wish to keep your tongue. A third beer if you wish to keep your legs.”

I remained standing, a sentinel at watch. The Dwarves of this hall were enemies forced to make concessions, not friends.

The ten of the Scale moved to sit and partake of the meal with that brittleness that comes when death has just passed you by. One of them—Boros, I think, with the scar that cut his lip into a permanent sneer—took a testing sip and coughed once, eyes watering, and then grinned despite himself. Gauntlets were removed, and the bowl of nuts made the rounds; syrup shone on callused fingers. Flatbread soon vanished. The pink mushrooms were sniffed before they were tasted, but they must have been pleasing, for they were devoured like everything else.

These were men who had learned to take sustenance wherever they could. For fighting men never knew which meal would be their last.

Cordelia plucked a mushroom up between forefinger and thumb, turning it so the light feathered across its skin. “These are meant to be sweet,” she murmured, amusement playing in her voice. “I did not think such a flavor possible in mushrooms.”

“Poison?” I asked, not because I feared its fire, but because of the insult such an accusation was. The gravest of insults one could, in fact, level at a host with their offerings.

The little queen’s eyes narrowed at this.

Cordelia met my eyes and held the mushroom to her tongue, the gesture filled with idle femininity. Seductive, almost. Then she bit, slow, savoring, and swallowed. “If it is, it’s the kindly, lingering sort. The one that would bring only strange dreams and visions.”

I could not draw my eyes away from her lips.

Danger still lingered in the air. Across from us the court wavered like wheat in a fickle wind. The first knot of notables made their excuses with the frantic dignity of people who smell a stampede; the second knot drifted after them, whispering. One Dwarf, fatter than his peers and swollen with self-importance, scuttled for the doors so swiftly it was almost comical. Only the core remained: the most powerful and the most curious.

Those in power would mark their fair-weather allies this day. A purge would follow; for rulers are good at remembering even the smallest of slights.

The queen kept her place. She did not lift her veil, but her hands betrayed her—tendons tight upon the arms of the throne. To her right a Runed warrior stomped close; another hovered at her left. Even two of the Runed would be poor protection against my might. I had torn one apart with my bare hands, near-naked. Clad now in the full garb of war, I feared them not at all.

My ward, Larynda, ate like a soldier—quick, economical, the way of one who does not trust a meal to last. She watered her beer to a pale amber and, between bites, gave me a small smile. A reprimand. A plea. Both. I nodded back, noting that for all her haste, her manners had improved.

“You have your refreshment,” the queen said at last, composure rebuilt and voice steady. “Will you have words now, instead of threats?”

“I’ll have both when either suits me,” I said, letting a rogue’s grin show. “But speak, then. I will allow it.”

One of theirs, a woman of all things, coughed delicately. Like the queen, she was swathed head to foot in the finest cloth. “Your… assertion about the jungle. That you brought about the burning. I should like to know how you brought such a thing about. The jungle and the rains reject the kiss of flame. We have found it more trouble than it is worth to clear the jungle near us.”

The queen fixed her gaze on the Dwarf noblewoman. “Lady Lakis,” she warned, voice half a growl.

Lakis ignored her. “I would know the how of it, if you would be kind enough to tell me.” Proudly, she turned to her queen. “Perhaps it will be for future generations to cut the grass, wouldn’t you say, my queen?”

“With hate,” I answered, giving Lakis a small smile. “And oil. And men who obey orders,” I lied.

There was a split here; I could feel the seam under my thumb. The only question was how best to pry it open.

I sat at the low table, smiling as the men made space for me beside my ward.

The girl leaned in, voice barely a thread. “You win nothing by salting every wound you see.”

“I win a truth,” I said. “Truth, and the shape of their fear.”

For a long time, Queen Lauline’s gaze never left me. Across the hall the ragged remnant of the court settled into thick pillows at the edges of the hall like birds that had decided the hawk would not stoop—at least not yet.

Lakis found her courage and stepped half a pace forward. “You are a poor host indeed, if you do not sit with your guests, my queen.”

“You grow bold, far too bold, without my lord-husband, the King, present,” Lauline said.

“Why, sister, I but speak the truth,” the other Dwarven woman replied.

I let myself be entertained and watched. Half the court laughed, thin and nervous.

This Lakis woman had power. Perhaps there was a friend to be made here.

“I would offer you a seat at my humble table,” I said.

When there is a wedge between one’s enemies, it behooved one to press on it.

The little woman smiled behind her veil; the crinkle at the corners of her eyes betrayed the emotion to me. Eyes that were the color of fresh cut amber.

With what could be called passing grace, Lady Lakis lowered herself beside me and poured unwatered Dwarven beer. There was a small gasp from some of the hall as she half removed the veil to sample a drink. The woman winked at me when she caught me looking.

“There is a place for you here, sister,” she said lightly, addressing the dais without looking at it. “It would warm the hall to see our queen share it.”

“You know full well that in my lord husband’s absence decorum binds me,” Queen Lauline returned, annoyance now mixed with the authority.

It was a strange thing to be in hall of a Dwarven king. Stranger still to sit in such a hall at a low table that felt like an small island in a sea of stares. I had the sense of being made a spectacle—an exotic beast to entertain these stunted folk.

Under the table Lakis’s fingers found my palm, cool and decisive. Something soft pressed into my hand—a silken cord, knotted in careful turns. Intrigue, plain as the taste of iron.

I was no expert in the Language of Knots. I cheated. My Identify whispered its truth through my fingertips as I stroked the cord, pretending to read it by touch.

Kill her sister’s husband, and Lakis wears the crown. 

Subtle as a mace to the face. Only intriguing in that it was in the third person. No doubt such a little thing would allow for plausible denial.

I turned the cord once more before I let Decay feast upon it. “Tell me,” I said, “why this brew is so prized?”

Lakis studied me, weighing what she wanted to hear against what I might give. “Besides the richness,” she said at last, “its aroma keeps a long memory. Those who take it with them are… well-rewarded.” She lowered her veil again and drank deep.

The woman was surprisingly pretty. I had expected all of the Dwarves to be cut from the same stone, a part of me fancying them to be bearded. Looking closely, she was proportionally the same as a human, only much smaller. It was a pleasant correction.

Larynda watched me with a puzzled tilt of the head. She knew I had little love for strong spirits, for with my Constitution I could draw no pleasure from them.

“And how,” I asked, as if still speaking only of beer, “does one protect such fine a vintage from thieves?”

I winced inwardly at my own clumsiness, but Lakis did not seem to mind. “Many keys,” she said. “Many guards. Yet should misfortune befall the master brewer, his senior apprentice will become the new master.”

“Then the black ones would be yours to call and command,” I murmured.

Her soft eyes met mine over the rim of her mug. “Only a Lushaeli Datim can do this,” she said softly. “He who stands above the law. If such a hand falls upon the lord of this place, it will be read as judgment from the Ancestors. The Runed will answer the blood in my veins. The others will accept.”

Well, well. A cautious man might have wondered whether a woman, one met less than a few minutes ago, could be trusted. Fortunately, I needed only trust myself. Should betrayal show its face before the dust had settled, the remedy would be simple. It would be time to see if I could kill a pretty woman in cold blood.

“I want one thing,” I said.

Amber eyes narrowed. “Name your wish.”

“No. Say yes now, or this talk never was,” I told her, letting a devil’s smile show. “Choose, or let the moment pass.”

“I… accept,” Lakis replied too quickly, a tremble that echoed her sister. Fear touched her gaze—and something else I knew too well. Desperation.

Larynda’s curiosity sharpened, her eyes seeming to twitch. Inside, I laughed. And laughed.

I raised an empty cup and brought it to my lips and smiled.