Page 167 of Of Empires and Dust
Oleg’s shirt was torn and filthy, his dark trousers much the same. His bald head was coated with dust from the mine, and the tip of his right ear was missing, a roaring red scab in itsplace. All in all, the man looked like he’d been through the void and back. Though Kira hadn’t seen herself in a mirror, she’d no doubt she looked much worse.
She limped towards Oleg, gratefully taking the shoulder that Ahktar offered. A strong front was not needed for those in this room. “Oleg Marylin, Keeper of the Mountain. May your fire never be extinguished and your blade never dull. You have my thanks. I don’t remember much from my time in the bed, but I do remember my sister telling me that I wouldn’t be standing here were it not for you and the warriors of Belduar.”
“And I wouldn’t be standing here if not for you, Your Majesty. It seems we owe a debt to each other.”
Kira smiled at that and gave the man a soft nod before looking about at the other faces who crowded the table.
Six Belduarans stood near Lumeera. All of them looked hard as iron; former Kingsguard no doubt. Kira could learn their names later.
The only other human in the room was Turim Arlan, Guildmaster of the Wind Runners. Tall, lean, and chisel-jawed, with stone-grey hair. Even then, standing about a makeshift war table, he still wore his padded navigator glasses with their thick black lenses and copper blinders. She’d known the man since she’d been a child, long before she’d had any notions of becoming a queen. Two navigators framed him on either side, both elves.
He lifted a hand as though grasping the brim of a hat that didn’t exist, then inclined his head, a warm smile on his lips. “Good to see you breathing, young one.”
“And you.” There was more in the smile she gave him than simple happiness. There was thanks, respect, and deep pride. There would be a time to express that with words, but he knew her well enough to understand the gesture.
A number of dwarves bearing sigils of Azmar, Ozryn, and Volkur crowded about the table. She greeted them much the same. If they were there, they had stood by her in her darkest hours and they had seen through Hoffnar’s deceptions. They would be forever welcome around her table.
Several of her own Queensguard and warriors of Durakdur made up the last of the count, including Vikmar, who had been Mirlak’s second. His was a face she was glad to see. She would call them all to council later. They deserved her time.
Once they were all settled, Kira leaned against the table, using it as leverage to keep herself upright. By all accounts she had not been in the cell more than two weeks, and yet her strength had withered like a dying flower, her stomach still twisting in pain, her broken ribs and fingers constantly throbbing. “Don’t stop on my account,” she said, holding back a grunt. “What are we looking at?”
“A lot has happened while you were resting,” Erani said. Kira bristled at the word ‘resting’, as though she was relaxing while the others fought. Erani pulled over a map etched in charcoal depicting what looked to be an intricate system of tunnels. “Hoffnar is building new tunnels branching off from Volkur.” She traced her finger from a large node of charcoal along a series of black lines that stretched to the edge of the page. “We’re not sure where they lead just yet, but we have some ideas.”
Kira gestured for her sister to continue, which earned her a glare. Erani had never been good at taking orders. She was the eldest. It had been Erani their mother had groomed for leadership, but she had shunned it at every turn. She didn’t want to be a leader but despised being led.
“Hoffnar has not been shy since butchering Queen Elenya and King Lakar and throwing you in that cell. He has given many public addresses and sent emissaries the length and breadth of the Freehold. He is proclaiming a new dawn for the dwarvenpeople. He is offering them the sun, promising to lead them from the mountain, and announcing the time is now and may never come again, that the Lorian Empire is weak and ripe to reap what they have sown. It does not take much to connect his rhetoric to an attack on the Lorians, though we can’t be sure of his target. That information is being kept tight. And Hoffnar’s own personal guard, along with a small contingent of three mages he appears to have brought into his service, are hunting down any and all who hold loyalty to you – and they’re not being quiet about it. There are many who rally behind him, many who share in the dream he is promising.”
Kira nodded slowly, trying to absorb what she had just been told. Everything she had ever known was being dismantled piece by piece. Her head pounded like a forge hammer, and her stomach felt as though it would soon eat her liver for want of food.
The sound of a door slamming against a wall thumped through the corridor outside the chamber, followed by footfalls.
Four dwarves in sharp, thick plate marched into the chamber, the hammer of Durakdur worked into their breastplates, axes mounted on their backs.
“Blessed be the mountain and the fires within. Kira.” The lead dwarf removed his helmet to reveal a line-marked face half-covered by a thick blond beard so laden with rings of silver and gold it looked wrought from metal. The dwarf’s blue eyes were soft, lines creasing at the sides from smiling.
He strode forwards and pulled Kira into a tight embrace, causing pain to flare through her ribs.
“Uncle.” Kira squeezed Alrick with all the strength her body could muster. “I had hoped, but I didn’t know if… Erani didn’t tell me you survived.”
Alrick pulled away and stared into Kira’s eyes as though he hadn’t seen her in a hundred years. “You look like shit, little one.”
“And you look worse.”
“Pity they didn’t cut out that tongue. Would have been an improvement.”
Kira yanked her uncle back in close, squeezing him once more before letting him go and greeting the other three dwarves who marched with him. Lomak, Kandzal, and Okra. Alrick’s two sons and his daughter. Her cousins.
“I thought it best to wait until their return before promising you their lives.” Erani gave Kira a sympathetic smile.
Alrick approached the stone table, then swung a satchel from his shoulder and produced a severed head from within. He let it drop with a thump.
“Gods,” Oleg chirped, his eyes widening.
“Yarzik Olnak. High Captain of King Hoffnar’s Kingsguard.” Alrick twisted his fingers in the head’s bloody, ring-laden hair, pulling so he could stare into its eyes. “Put up a good fight. Died screaming, though.” He spat onto the dead dwarf’s face. “May he burn in the fires of the void. We’ve secured the harvest from Ozryn’s northwest tuber fields. Enough to see us through for a while.”
“Uncle.” Erani frowned. “As pleased as I am to hear that, would you mind removing the severed head from the table? It’s dripping onto the maps.”
Alrick lifted the head by the hair and brushed two tunnel maps out of the way before repositioning it.
