The Belromanticum

Chapter 64

The first I heard of the wenhoule people was their attack upon the hamlet Silverholt. The emergence of a new people was a rare event, though not unheard of. There was a time before Thür knew the tread of humanity, before the elves, before the orcs, and so forth. The wenhoule were an omen of what was to come, though through no fault of their own. Blaming them would be like the cursing the bird that fled the squall that followed it.

The first word of those people came in the dead of night. Good news sleeps soundly, but bad is restless. I had accompanied Jerrika to one of her nighttime haunts. I had perhaps neglected my undead mariner in recent years. She was uncomfortable so far from the sea, but she could not stray far from me without risking descent into her near-mindless existence. She spent her time at cards and drink and I believe we all knew this was not sustainable. She was unhappy, and at the time I blamed it upon Bashamailon.

Still, I tried, and I confess I enjoyed myself. Cards lacked the elegance of Alishum, but there was still the sense of excitement of a contest against worthy opponents. Jerrika attended a half dozen regular games, but this was her favorite. The tavern was the first building erected in Kaibéliard, originally the residence of the first human miner to find these peaks, and later expanded into the labyrinthine edifice it became during my time there.

We were in the midst of a hand where the pot had grown to precipitous proportions. I suspect some of them enjoyed taking the Prince Consort's money. No shame in that. I was about to add a little more to the pile when hoofbeats shook the coins upon the table.

I sprang to my feet, certain Kaibéliard was being attacked, the game forgotten. I could not imagine how, as the Avelina Valley was in the center of the kingdom and any invaders would have to cross at least one other, but in the moment I only wanted to be out on the street.

I ran down the stairs and emerged into the chill air of the late autumn night. A small group of riders thundered down the central thoroughfare, the hooves of their horses chewing up the mud. A pair peeled off for the Dragon's Roost, a trio to the home of the magistrate, and another pair to the meeting hall of Order of Bashamerax.

"Rider!" I called as the trio heading to the magistrate's passed the tavern.

The woman on horseback turned to me, initially dismissed the hail of a strange man out in the middle of the night, before reining in her horse hard. "Forgive me, Your Highness, I did not know you," she said as her horse danced in place, trying to control its headlong momentum. The other two riders kept going.

"What is happening?" I asked.

"An attack at Silverholt. From the mines, Your Highness."

"Go! I will meet the others at the Order house!"

She nodded, too out of breath for a response. She dug her heels into the horse's flank, and the beast sprinted after the others.

"You're going, aren't you," Jerrika said, ambling over to me. She was dressed in her ship's finery, lacking both a hat and anything on her feet. Her body glowed softly, lightning playing over her fetching curves.

"Come with me," I said. "A little adventure will do you good."

Her cold lips found mine, and a graveyard shiver ran through me. "I am no knight, love. Besides, the cards are still speaking to me."

Quiyahui slithered from the roof where she had been coiled like an early snowfall to follow along overhead on my journey to the order's meeting hall. The hall itself was a single longhouse, with a barracks, smithy, and stables behind. The Order's dragon banner flew over the structure, proudly proclaiming their allegiance.

The squire at the door bowed and ushered me inside. The room was long, a feasting table spanning its length, the hearth at one end. Banners, the personal sigils of notables, hung from the rafters, each one a variation of the traditional dragon banner of the Order of Bashamerax.

There, the bedraggled riders begged the assembled knights for aid. The knights were dressed simply, in soft tunics and trousers, their hair mussed from sleep. Among the knights were my daughter Isneth and my son Tyrvath, their scaled faces set. Isneth was the spitting image of her mother, her gray-touched hair cut short and framing her face. Tyrvath favored me in features, with even his scales carrying jagged bolts of bright blue through the orange.

"Father," he murmured as I approached. "What are you doing here?"

I hugged him, which he accepted with good graces. He had thankfully grown old enough that affection from his parents was no longer a source of shame. "Arrange for another horse. I'll be going with you."

He nodded, and I caught I wash of pride over his features. "You will not ride ahead?"

"It sounds like the attack is over. Better to arrive in force, I think."

Isneth spoke with the head of the order, a white-haired man whose best days were behind him. He raised his voice, addressing the room. "Knight-Sergeant Isneth ur-Udraeg will lead this sortie. Obey her as you would me."

The other knights' faces were set. Isneth was one of the younger knights in the Order, but she carried the blood of the Great Red Father. In a place like Bashamailon, that would not be forgotten. I would be concerned if such faith was placed in another, but I had nothing but esteem for my Isneth.

Isneth issued orders, and the other knights scrambled to obey, including my son. The squires were to gather their things, armor, horse, and provisions, and make ready to ride within the hour. I waited quietly, not wanting to undermine her authority with the rest of her Order. Finally, she approached me. "Thank you for coming, Father," Isneth said.

"I likely won't be the last to hear the summons."

"Mama Lysethe and Mama Ten Ghosts won't miss this," she said grimly. "It will be good to have them with us."

Of her mothers, Isneth was perhaps closest with Ten Ghosts, who had taught her to ride and wield a Theva warclub. Isneth had since given up vorghals for horses and clubs for a heavy mace, but the lessons and love remained. I saw much of Ten Ghosts in Isneth, both in their reserved demeanors and quiet faith.

Her brother Tyrvath, who entered the room with his squire, stood in contrast. He had bonded with Tanyth and still favored a straight Kharsoomian blade, like the one she had taught him the art of fencing with. I saw in him that same spirit of adventure that had first led me to join the Mythseekers and spurred me across the Red Wastes as a boldisar. I wondered if a knightly order was truly the lad's ultimate destiny.

I sat with the riders, who now waited for the knights to assemble, and bade them tell me what happened. They came from Silverholt, a mining town in the valley to the west. The bulk of the inhabitants were dwarves or carried some dwarvish blood. Both of the riders looked, as the saying went, that they had a bit of stone in the family tree. They told me the attack had come suddenly from the mine itself. I had assumed the culprits to be goblins, but the riders described creatures that glowed yellow and were covered in spines. They killed several miners before making it to the surface, where they ransacked the town. Then they retreated underground, leaving behind a stunned community that had seen no real violence in over a century. I vowed to do everything I could to protect Silverholt from further harm.

We assembled outside, one of the squires entrusting a horse to me. I would never like the creatures overmuch, but I had become a passable rider in the near century I spent in Bashamailon.

Lysethe and Ten Ghosts rode up. Isneth's shoulders relaxed as she saw the Theva, and she immediately hid her relief beneath a stern mask. I embraced both of them, pleased that I would have not only two of my loves with us, but two of the finest warriors I had ever known. We rode out soon after, arriving in Silverholt in the late afternoon after a hard ride.

As our banners flapped into view, a cheer went up from the townsfolk. Their faces brightened further as they realized that not only had knights arrived, so had the queen's Prince Consort, the Huntress, and the Red Hound, as well as two children carrying the blood.

Evidence of the attack was everywhere. Though it was nothing compared to what Syventyth had done to Bergau, a few buildings smoldered and fresh graves were being dug.

A Firnóg man, his white beard reaching his belt, strode out to meet us in the road, mopping his brow. His limbs were like stone, his chest like a barrel. As he beheld us, he pulled the cap from his head, revealing that most of his hair was on his chin. "Hail and well met. When I sent my riders for help, I didn't know we'd be getting a royal delegation."

"I am Isneth ur-Udraeg and the sortie is mine," said my daughter with impressive authority.

"I know you, Your Highness," he said with a bow. "Dhurlgar Silverhand's my name. I'm the master miner here, so these men and women are my responsibility. Did you want to rest and refresh yourselves?"

"I would rather not waste the time."

The master miner looked at her with renewed admiration. "As you wish. I'll guide you down there, but if you'll permit, I'd like to bring a half dozen miners. More than that want some payback, but six should do. Keep us all safe down there."

Isneth nodded. "I trust your assessment, Master Miner."

We were forced to stable the mounts. The vorghal provoked some consternation, but there was nothing else to be done. Ten Ghosts soothed him as they put him into a locked stable and gave stern instructions to the terrified stablehands.

"They were bred in caves for centuries," she sighed.

"He makes the locals nervous," I said, leaning up to kiss her cheek.

"And we don't know how close the confines will get below," Lysethe said.

"Quiyahui will look after him," I said. She sullenly coiled about the roof of the stables and the vorghal calmed himself.

When all was made ready, we went up the winding path to the mines. The entrance had long ago been sculpted by the dwarves, welcoming visitors within. Dhurlgar waited with four men and two women, all armed with hammers and picks. If the riders had some stone in their family tree, these seven might have had a few leaves in the family stone if that makes sense.

He nodded in approval as we approached. "I would not want to be those creatures now," he said. His eyes fell upon the great mace my daughter carried on her shoulder. "Don't often see a lass with such a weapon."

"I'm more than just a lass," she said.

"I meant no offense, Your Highness, merely that you could be Firnóg with that mighty club."

"I thought your people favored hammers."

"We're miners first and any weapon has to pull its duty as a tool. For a knight, a weaponisher tool."

Inside the mountain, the first expanse was a village, really a neighborhood of Silverholt, where the miners who preferred a subterranean home could live. As with any such place in Bashamailon, lamps blazing with dragonflame marked the avenues and eaves, shedding more than enough light to see. Firnóg locals removed their caps as we passed, then as soon as we were by, replaced them and returned to cleaning up the damage the raiders had inflicted.

Lysethe cast a spell, releasing moths of pure sunlight into the air. The magical creatures circled us, bolstering the dragonflame lights and remaining ready when those ran out.

"They took nearly everything they could lay hands on," Dhurlgar said. "Like locusts."

"Nearly?" I asked.

"They didn't touch the silver. Most of what we pull out of here is silver, hence the name. They didn't care a whit for it, though we have a queen's ransom in our storehouses."

"They took food?"

"Food, water, weapons. I'd call some of what they tooksupplies, you know. Things you need like wagons or tents. Think they got a couple barrels of demon powder. We'll need a shipment of that sooner than I thought."

"Demon powder?" Isneth asked. "I don't like them being armed with that."

"Nor I, but better you know about it now before they use to bring a tunnel down on our heads."

Dhurlgar was an able guide. He led us down past the expanses of the mine, to a tunnel that broke through into a natural cavern. The invaders, he judged, must have come this way. He was proven correct shortly thereafter, finding a discarded sack of local make still smelling of onions.

"Miss Hound?" Dhurlgar said. "Would you dampen your light a touch? I don't think these invaders got far and I wouldn't like to give them more of a warning."

"You worry about light reaching them?" Lysethe asked, but obediently dampening her spell. The shadows closed in about us.

"Light has a funny way of carrying belowground," he said. "Places it shouldn't be, it lingers."

We camped that night, the dwarves breaking into their hard, mushroomy bread and pillowy aurochbug meat. I retired to a tent with Ten Ghosts and Lysethe, the three of us settling into our bedrolls. No loveplay happened that night. We slept deeply, the exhaustion claiming us.

***

We were able to overtake the attackers late in the following day's travel. Dhurlgar bade Lysethe douse the last of her light when he was certain the invaders were only a short distance ahead. He, Ten Ghosts, and I moved ahead, emerging on a ledge overlooking a great chamber. In the cavern below, a vast array of wagons pulled by wan aurochbugs formed a loose circle. I spied barrels, food, and supplies that could only have come from Silverholt. These were the culprits.

The raiders were as had been described. They stood perhaps as tall as a human, though they all walked with a bit of a bow-legged hunch, I suspected from the realities of living underground. Their skin was yellow, shedding a glow bright enough to see by. I noted, after a time, that they could brighten or dim it at will, a useful talent for living underground.

Short spines sprouted over the flat planes of their bodies, over their upper backs, the backs of their arms, their calves, and so forth. Their features were close enough to those of ghouls, with small noses, wide mouths, and huge eyes the side of a child's fist. Their ears were webbed frills. Their hands sported long and clever fingers, tipped with claws. They dressed simply, their ragged clothes missing panels over the spines. A few carried weapons, some were steel from the surface, while most were simple bone and stone.

"We've caught them unawares," murmured Dhurlgar. "I'll go fetch the others. Even with their numbers, our knights should make short work of them."

"Hold," I said. I looked to Ten Ghosts.

She nodded, knowing my mind. "Children," she said.

"Children?" asked the dwarf.

"Look with different eyes," Ten Ghosts said, nodding to the encampment.

"Women. Children," I said, pointing to them below. "And those men hardly look like hardened raiders."

"The people of Silverholt call for retribution."

"We'll not be a party to butchery." I turned to Isneth. "Remain here. Ten Ghosts and I will speak to them."

Dhurlgar was silent and I took that as assent. Foolish, but I was overconfident. I found the pathway down and Ten Ghosts followed, myself empty-handed and my wife resting her club loosely over her shoulder. We were partway down when a sentry spotted us and raised the alarm. As the pale yellow creatures emerged ready to fight, the only sign that Ten Ghosts was nervous was a tightening of her grip on her club.

We stopped where we were as the sentries regarded us warily. One said something in a language I didn't understand. I held up my hands to show they were empty. Two of them argued, then one took a threatening step, raising his weapon and barking words.

I turned my palms to face one another. Lightning spanned them, cooking the air and hurling light about the room. Just as quickly, I banished it, once again holding out my hands to show I meant no harm.

They exchanged tense looks and tenser words. The aggressive one lowered his weapon. Right at that moment came the clanking of knights rushing to my aid. Dhurlgar was at their head, and their weapons were naked. The yellow beings raised their weapons, steeling them to fight.

"Hold!" I called.

"Father, what is going on?" demanded Isneth. The dwarf was by her side, his features stormy.

"Isneth, look at these people. They are desperate. I would wager they are fleeing something. I've seen enough of that to know the look. Desperation made them attack Silverholt, I would swear on it."

"What do you want to do?"

"Communicate with them. Make peace. Help them."

"They attacked Silverholt and you want to help them?" demanded Dhurlgar.

"I want to talk to them before wholesale slaughter, and you will mind your tongue when you speak to me."

I held out my hands to the yellow beings and they seemed to understand that I stood between them and the knights. Tyrvath and two of the younger knights interposed themselves between me and the dwarves. Isneth came to my side.

"Father, you are certain?"

"I am certain I would like to understand these people before we slay them."

"My oaths compel me to agree. What would you have done?"

"Escort Dhurlgar and the other miners back to Silverholt, then send Tyrvath to fetch Zhahllaia."

"Mama Zhahllaia?" she frowned, then the sun dawned on her features. "She speaks every language."

"Exactly."

"You will be safe?"

"I have Lysethe and Ten Ghosts with me. These people are in more danger than I."

Isneth admirably corralled the others. The dwarves muttered, shooting baleful looks my way. Lysethe came to my side, conferring quietly with Ten Ghosts. I faced the newcomers and nodded, showing them my hands. Their weapons lowered.

Three more came to the front cautiously, talking to their sentries. These were women, and I noted that beneath their breasts was another pair, these smaller. They wore meager adornment of carved and polished insect shells. After a short discussion, the sentries allowed them to pass.

The leader, marked by a diadem that gave her a third eye upon her forehead, touched her chest. "Drann."

"Belromanazar of Thunderhead." She blinked in surprise, her eyelids closing sideways over the impressive orbs. "Bel."

She smiled, showing an impressive set of teeth. "Bel." She held out her palms, showing me they were empty. I mirrored the gesture.

She returned to the sentries and talked more with them. Their voices grew strained in argument. Lysethe leaned over to me and murmured, "I don't trust them."

"Good," I said. "We need that. I don't want to be blinded to possibilities of treachery."

Drann turned to us and spoke again. She and her two companions moved away from the sentries over their obvious protestations and beckoned us along. They brought us back to the overhang where we originally found their camp. Drann gestured to it, speaking firmly.

"I believe she is asking us to make camp here," I said.

She spoke again, gesturing to her camp, and then to us, and then to the area. I understood what she meant, more or less, though I longed for Zhahllaia's help translating.

I sat down on a rock, and Drann did the same. As Ten Ghosts sat, another, whose name I would learn was Xul, did as well. The last, Bek, remained standing as Lysethe did.

"Bel," Drann said.

"Drann," I responded. I picked up a stone and held it up. "Stone."

"Tok," she said.

And thus we began to learn.

***

We made our camp where Drann asked. For two days, she and I learned language from one another. It was slow, little more than vocabulary, but the learning itself was secondary. Nothing inspires trust like an attempt to learn a language. It is peace in action and intent, the opposite of a raised weapon.

Drann, Xul, and Bek spent their days with us, then at night returned to the camp. We did not stray from our place. Lysethe and I set out sentry spells, while Ten Ghosts beseeched the breath of her ancestors to whisper warnings to us. We were quite safe.