The Fall of Dorkhun (9 page)

“We are a civilized race,” Suvene said, anger rising in his voice. “We protect slaves from their own sloth.”

“What?”

“Elves and dwarves live in trees and caves with no sense of purpose. We strive to civilize the world.”

“No purpose!” Stahloor huffed, slapping the arm of his chair.

“Daddy, calm down. He’s our guest.”

“That’s absurd. Elves were civilized millenia before your kind learned to forge iron. We strive for harmony and balance in all things. Uncivilized! Nonsense!”

“Please, sir, I meant no offense.”

Stahloor collected himself and took a deep breath.

“No, you didn’t, of course. You’re only repeating what you’ve been taught. Forgive my temper.”

“Besides, I’m not very high in rank. I own no slaves myself.”

“But you protect those who do.”

“I’m a soldier. I serve the masters.”

“You poor boy. You’re a slave yourself.”

Suvene raised an eyebrow, glaring at the elf.

“Only the masters are really free. I remember hating the orc field hands. They were so crude and disgusting, and the soldiers were little better, but now, I see that you were no more free than I was.”

“I am free.”

“Could you dine in the big house?”

“No,” Suvene said, squirming.

“Could you marry as you pleased?”

“No.” As the dissonance formed in his mind, Suvene fidgeted as one with a splinter lodged in a finger’s crease.

“Could you do any of the things the masters did, like laying in the hammocks in the evening?”

“No.” His discomfort was palpable.

“That’s a curious kind of freedom.”

Suvene stared down into his bowl where some herbs had dried onto the side. Fighting in tournaments as a boy, he had always resented the privileged. Children of the masters, who at their best couldn’t match him with a blade, were lavished with praise and awards when he wasn’t allowed to compete in the finals. Those trophies should have been his. He had never understood why he wasn’t allowed to compete, but now, sitting in this tree with this escaped slave, he saw it clearly.

“You are right,” he said. “I wasn’t free.”

“You’re free, now,” Alysea said.

Suvene leaned back in the chair, which creaked with his movement. All his life, he had been dutiful. He never questioned orders and always fulfilled his duty, but what had it gotten him? He had risked his life to warn the fortress of the advancing slaves and had faced the phantom one-on-one twice, and his reward was a probable execution. Suddenly, the epiphany exploded inside him, and he rose to his feet.

“I don’t have to go back,” he said.

“No, you don’t,” Stahloor said, before taking a sip of water.

Suvene paced the platform, noticing the delicate artwork etched onto the modest tables and the patterns in the bark. He had no need to serve the masters, and while he still grieved for Toulesche, for the first time since the uprising at Slithsythe, he didn’t need revenge. A weight lifted, and he wanted to shout with joy. The sensation was bizarre and foreign and wonderful. He could start a new life and be whatever he wanted to be without the limitations placed on him by the masters because of his social rank at birth.

“If I stay here,” he said, his mind racing. “You won’t be safe. They may come looking for me.”

“Curious.”

“To escape, I had to kill four guards,” he said, looking down.

“My goodness!” Alysea exclaimed.

“I had never killed another person before,” he continued. Since his escape, he had been so focused on making it across the mountains that he hadn’t let himself think about it, and now, he was overwhelmed with guilt.

“You can atone for that later,” Stahloor said. “It is tragic and terrible, but you did what you had to do.”

“They were gonna execute me. I didn’t even think. I just acted.”

“It’s okay,” Stahloor said, rising from his seat and stepping in front of the young orc.

“I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

“Where will you go?” Alysea asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t know much of anything about what’s north.”

“How were you planning to find your enemy?” Stahloor asked, his brow furrowing again.

“I don’t know. I was hoping to catch his trail when I crossed the mountains. If not, I was just gonna head west until I found the western range.”

“That’s not much of a plan,” Stahloor said, chuckling softly. “Do you still want to hunt this person?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Then, you need a new plan.”

“Where can I go?” Suvene asked. “Where will I be safe?”

“I think I know of just the place.”

Chapter 6

Among His Kin

Roskin paced around his room in the makeshift palace that had been assembled near the eastern gate. He had been waiting all day for the opportunity to speak with his father about Krondious, but with messengers coming back and forth from the ogres, the king had been busy arguing with Master Sondious about the terms of the truce. From time to time, their voices would reverberate down the hall, and once, the king had even stormed from the chamber, shouting obscenities about the special advisor.

Bordorn sat by a bookshelf and at random pulled books down and thumbed through them, balancing the book on the nub of his left arm and turning pages with his right. The room was modest, but compared to most of the places Roskin had slept for the last year, it was as comfortable as his bedroom in Dorkhun. The bed had fresh sheets and a firm mattress, and an attendant stood outside the door, ready to answer at any time. Despite the comfort, Roskin was restless and wanted to speak with his father.

“I’m going to see Krondious and make sure he’s okay,” he said, moving for the door.

“Want me to come, too?”

“Will you wait here and come get me if he calls?”

“Sure, Pepper Beard. Relax, okay. Your father’s just. He’ll listen.”

“He believes in the law,” Roskin said, stopping at the door. “I just hope he accepts my offer to the exiles as legal.”

With that, Roskin opened the door and stepped into the hallway. He asked his attendant if he knew where Krondious was being held, and the young Kiredurk nodded. Roskin motioned for him to show the way, and the attendant led Roskin to a stairway at the end of the hall and said that Krondious was down the stairs and to the right. Roskin thanked him and told the timid dwarf to see if Bordorn needed anything. After living as a slave and a foot soldier, Roskin found it hard readjusting to having someone to care for him. He missed the open sky at night and a breeze in his beard.

The makeshift palace was the home of a successful merchant who had volunteered to let the king lodge here during the war. The house was 500 years old and had been carved from the mountain. Over the years many steel beams had been installed to bolster its soundness, and it had been refinished dozens of times to improve its aesthetics. The merchant’s husband had also spent the last two decades refurnishing the place to make it appear more like the modern buildings of Dorkhun.

Roskin started down the stairs and adjusted from the well-lighted hallway to the dimly-lighted lower level. At the bottom, another hallway split in each direction, so he turned right and moved towards the sounds of muffled voices. A few yards ahead, a thick, wooden door was shut and locked. He banged on the door, and after a moment, the latch lifted and the door groaned open. Krondious was chained to the far wall, his arms above his head and his toes barely touching the floor. His left eye was swollen shut, and his white beard was stained with blood from his nose and mouth. As Roskin entered, the guards stifled their laughter and wouldn’t look at him. Roskin stood near the doorway and checked his temper. He shook with anger and clenched his fists.

“He fell down the stairs,” one of the guards muttered. The others chuckled to themselves.

“Unchain him, now,” Roskin growled.

“We’ve got our orders,” the lieutenant said, still not looking at Roskin. “From the king.”

Roskin stepped as close to the lieutenant as he could and stared down at him. After a few heartbeats, the dwarf looked up.

“You have new orders,” Roskin said, his voice cold and flat against the stone walls.

“With all due respect...”

“Who do you think the king will believe?” Roskin interrupted. “Do it, right now.”

The lieutenant nodded to one of the other guards, who pulled a set of keys from a leather wallet on his belt. He stepped to just within arm’s reach of Krondious and froze. The guard turned to Roskin and started to speak.

“Krondious,” Roskin said, cutting off the terrified guard. “Don’t hurt him.”

“Yes, sir,” Krondious responded.

“Don’t kill him, either,” Roskin added.

Krondious frowned but nodded in agreement.

The guard stepped a little closer and, his hands trembling, reached to unfasten the chain on Krondious’s left arm. From the shaking, it took three tries to work the lock, but he finally managed. The entire time, Krondious stood still, staring ahead without blinking. The guard unchained his legs and darted back to the others.

“Get him a chair,” Roskin barked. “And someone go get a healer. If I have to ask again, it won’t be nice.”

Two guards bolted from the room, and Roskin walked into the middle of the rest. As he neared them, one by one, they stepped back.

“If he gets even so much as a flea bite while he’s here, I’ll personally take care of each of you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” a couple of guards said.

“Do you understand?” Roskin said, his voice barely a whisper behind gritted teeth.

“Yes, sir,” they all responded.

A moment later, one of the guards returned with a chair, and Krondious sat down, rubbing his shoulders and moving his arms to release the stiffness from having been suspended.

“Sit tight, my friend,” Roskin said. “You’ll be out of here soon.”

“Thanks,” Krondious responded.

“I’m sorry. I’ll make this up to you.”

“I knew the risk.”

“It’s not right.”

“Lots of things aren’t right, but I still serve you.”

“You’re my friend, Krondious, not my servant.”

Krondious smiled and held out his hand. They shook hands and made eye contact. Roskin nodded slightly, and Krondious returned the gesture. Then, Roskin turned and stormed from the room. He rushed up the stairs, not slowing when his attendant spoke to him, and charged to the chamber where his father and Master Sondious were having another heated argument. Roskin slammed open the door and stormed to his father. The two dwarves stopped mid-sentence and stared at him.

“How could you?” Roskin shouted.

The king leaned back in his seat, the shock on his face obvious.

“How could you?” Roskin repeated, leaning closer.

“Son, this is highly indecent.”

“Answer me!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You told those goons to rough him up.”

“What?” Master Sondious asked, motioning for his attendant.

“I did no such thing!” the king said, his voice rising an octave.

“They said you ordered him chained, and he’s been beaten up.”

“This is too much,” Master Sondious said. “Take me to my room.”

“Roskin, I didn’t order that.”

“You will regret this,” Master Sondious said as his attendant wheeled him from the room.

“Then, why was he suspended from the ground and beaten bloody?” Roskin asked, ignoring the special advisor.

“I told them to restrain him, but I never said hurt him. They’ll be punished.”

“He shouldn’t be treated this way,” Roskin said. “He risked his life for me.”

“Do you trust him, son?”

“Without question.”

The king leaned his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his hands. His brown beard, sprinkled with gray, spread across the table. He thought for a moment and then looked at his son.

“He did some terrible things.”

“Yes, sir, he did. But he was a misfit here. He’s a warrior at heart, like me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was a misfit, too. That’s why I always got into trouble. I had no outlet. It would’ve only been a matter of time before I did something like he did.”

“I see,” King Kraganere said, standing and facing his son.

“He wants to serve as my bodyguard, and I believe he would defend me with his life.”

King Kraganere embraced his son and held him tightly. Roskin hesitated but returned the hug.

“You’ve grown so much,” the king said. “I’m proud of how thick your beard is now.”

Roskin buried his face in his father’s shoulder and fought against his tears. Many times in the leisure slave cage, he had feared he would never see home again. The two dwarves, father and son, stood like that for several moments. Finally, the king let go and leaned back from his son.