Page 211 of Of Empires and Dust
“I am yours, from this moment until my last moment. If there was only one certainty in this life, that would be it.”
“I do not question you. I want to know, what do you think?”
“I think any words that stir a fire in your belly are words worth thinking on. Our people have suffered in the wars of the elves, the Jotnar, the humans… That cannot be denied. And the idea of ensuring that, when a new world is formed from the ashes of this one, our voices will be heard? That is something that stirs a fire in my belly.” Vikmar paused, considering. “But another thing worth thinking on is the soul who speaks the words. Hoffnar speaks of unification, of honour and glory, and yet he is a traitor to our kind. Eight hundred years had passed since dwarves had gone to war with dwarves. And he shattered that peace. He slaughtered my brothers and sisters of the Queensguard, slaughtered Mirlak. He has consolidated his power with the blood of honourable dwarves. To me, that sounds like someone who wishes to be remembered. And I have found that there are two kinds of leaders – those who wish to be remembered, and those who refuse to be forgotten. He is the former. You are the latter.”
“That’s the most I’ve ever heard you speak.”
“I don’t speak unless I have something worth saying. There are enough people who do the opposite.”
Kira smiled at that, drawing her hood tighter and dropping her head as they passed a group of miners singing and drinking outside a tavern.
“Good evening,” one of the dwarves called out as Kira and Vikmar tried to pass. He was older than Kira by a few years, his beard thick and red and laced with gold, silver, and copper rings. There were few in the dwarven kingdoms with more experience fighting kerathlin than miners. “Drink with us, friends! The ale is cheap, and the night is long.”
“Another night maybe,” Vikmar said as Kira lowered her head beside him.
“Ahh, friend, come!”
“I am not your friend.” Vikmar’s voice was sharper this time, and he tried to push past, but the dwarf stepped into his path.
“Round here we speak to people with more respect.”
Kira moved to place a hand on Vikmar’s shoulder before the situation got out of hand, but something bumped into her shoulder and caught her off balance. She stumbled a step, her hood slipping back just a fraction.
Vikmar was across faster than Kira’s eyes could follow. He grabbed the throat of the dwarf who had bumped her and slammed him against the wall.
“It was an accident,” the dwarf stammered.
The other dwarf, who Vikmar had been speaking to, narrowed his eyes and looked at Kira. “My queen?”
Vikmar spun and at the same time slipped a small, polished axe from a belt beneath his cloak, which he brandished at the dwarf who had spoken. “Whoever you think you saw here this night, you are mistaken. I expect you to choose your next words very, very carefully.”
The dwarf looked past Vikmar, staring instead at Kira. “My queen, I sought council with you once. When the mine shafts at the Ungbad outpost needed repairs. You granted my request in the same time it took for me to take a breath. I’d not forget your face, even at a glance.”
“You would want to learn to forget it. Or I will have to carve it from your memory.” Vikmar moved a step closer. As he did, Erani and Ahktar caught up, drawing their axes.
“Watch them.” Erani pointed an axe at the other miners, Ahktar stepping between them and Kira. “What is happening?”
“Stop.” Kira pulled back her hood, eliciting gasps. “Let him be, Vikmar.”
Vikmar gave an acknowledging grunt but didn’t lower his axe.
“My queen, your hair…” The red-haired dwarf came a step closer to Kira, pain in his eyes and shock in his voice. Vikmar pressed a palm to his chest. “Your rings… King Hoffnar did this to you?”
Kira nodded slowly. “He did.”
“Hafaesir crush him.” The dwarf rested his hand on Vikmar’s arm, shaking his head. “That is not necessary, my friend.”
“I am still not your friend, but if you press me, I will be the one who prays to Hafaesir when you are returned to the stone.”
“Easy. We are the queen’s.” The dwarf dropped to a knee. “We never believed a single word, my queen. Never.”
The other dwarves followed suit.
“Get on your feet,” Erani hissed, dragging the red-haired dwarf upright by his armpit. She turned to Kira. “And you, pull your hood up.”
“The people of Quedahar belong to Queen Kira of Durakdur,” one of the other dwarves said. “You will not find traitors here.”
“You will find traitors everywhere,” Erani snapped. “Kira, we need to keep moving. This was risky enough before you started pulling down your hood.”
