sovbooks Icevein: Chapter 15
Icevein: Chapter 15
Sledgefist sat in the narrow council chamber of Sledge Rock. It was unfinished, with a rough slab table. He had never cared to make it presentable. He did not use it for regular councils, either, but rather to have a place to take report from his various rinlen away from his own stonehold and the distractions of wif and gilke. It was not that he disliked his wif and gilke, but he could only attend to one thing at a time, and he did not like his wifs fretfulness. Whenever the ürsi came, she fretted, and he had come to believe it better to hide certain things from her.This was one of those things.
“It the hosting. Of that there is no doubt.” The Ridge Warden rinlen spoke with absolute confidence. It was the confidence of a dwarf who had faced constant danger for decades, scouting the movements of ürsi and holding the eastern bastions during the raids. Redburn and Tenstrikes, two of his Hammer rinlen, frowned and looked down at the table. Nobody wanted this news, killers though they were.
“It is too early,” Sledgefist answered.
“They are streaming from north and south.”
“And you are certain they are preparing to assault us here?” Sledgefist asked.
The rinlen nodded.
“But how will they eat until the raiding season?” Tenstrikes asked.
“Who says they will wait?” the Ridge Warden replied. “There is much movement of hunters toward the sea, so far as we can tell. But such sustenance will not last long for so many. They will be forced to move.”
Though no dwarves had risked going all the way to the seashore, it could be seen as a swath of silver on a clear day from the easternmost ridges. Chargrim thought that the ürsi sustained themselves from the sea during the summer months.
“And compared to last year?” Sledgefist asked.
“It is greater,” the warden answered. “I have never seen such a hosting.”
“So they have said each year for these five.”
“They will overcome you.”
Sledgefist had known this dwarf for many years, had fought beside him. He was called Keenedge for a reason. This was no coward. Sledgefist also knew that Keenedge served Chargrim first; runners would already be carrying word north to Glint. Chargrim’s order to abandon the rock rather than be overrun were clear and often repeated, but Sledgefist hated the idea of fleeing before he could drain some of the blood from the foe. He had held Sledge Rock for so long. Part of him refused to give it up, now.
“East Spire should be warned,” Redburn said. “And the claims.”
“In time,” Sledgefist answered. “We do not want a panic. They have not moved yet, and we must still bloody them here.” The ürsi would send scouts first. There were normally weeks of skirmishing, isolated hunting parties slipping over the ridgetops, and then finally the assault. No one needed warned of that. Sledge Rock was built for fighting. He had at least a week from the time the wardens brought word that the ürsi were surging to when the true attack came.
“More lives will be saved with warning,” Keenedge said.
“And they will have warning, soon,” Sledgefist answered. Now it was Keenedge who frowned, but Sledgefist knew the dwarf would not gainsay him unless word came from Chargrim to do so.
“The order is to abandon Sledge Rock,” Keenedge said.
“ we are to be overrun,” Sledgefist answered, irritated to be told what he already knew. “The foe has not yet moved. I will not run from what has not happened.”
“It will be overrun,” Keenedge said.
“I will not fall to a blow that is not yet swung,” Sledgefist answered.
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Keenedge didn’t reply. Sledgefist knew that he was being stubborn, but stubbornness had held the rock for years. He looked at Mudboot, rinlen of kulhan, who sat to the side of the chamber, not taking part in the matters of war but waiting for some direction.
“Make sure that the defenses are in order, and have your kulhan ready to go north,” he said. He would send them away first, if he must.
Gretti stood up and flexed his legs. They had started to cramp sitting still for so long. He crept out of the narrow alcove in the side of the stope and approached the drift to the Defthand claim. He listened again. Certainly, he heard distant sounds of working, but in the days spent watching, no one had come or gone from the drift. It was not merely that he was missing their change of shifts; he had varied his times of waiting. Even for an independent claim, it was unusual that no one would go to the stew hall or seek some supply or skill available in the colony.
There must be another drift allowing them to come and go, but if there was, he was not sure where or if it was even marked with cave runes. Now that he had come and gone a few times, it took him little more than an hour to reach the claim from the stew hall, but there were so many branchings. . . He may have missed something.
There was no telling how many dwarves might be working the claim, but probably no more than five. He had his pack and tools with him, and his hand drifted to the hatchet at his belt, testing how loose it was in its sheath. With a deep breath, he stepped into the stope, smelling the disturbed minerals on the draft.
The drift was even darker than the stope, and he used his ears and nose to guide the way, sliding his feet slowly forward to test the ground. He did not wish to risk a candle. He moved close to fifty yards down the drift and came to an irregular bend that clearly followed a vein. Around the bend, he could see a hint of light ahead, still far off. As he continued, the sounds of working grew clearer. The drift was narrow—the kind called a single, only wide enough for a single wheelbarrow to navigate.
At last, he came to a small stope. From here, another drift diverged, though it might have been the opening to another stope or chamber. Near the back wall, light flowed upward from a downward chute that followed a vein of quartzite. Timber bracings reinforced the roof, and there was a timber wheel and winch above the chute for lifting ore and spoil rock. The hopper was down below, and Gretti could hear the grating sound of a shovel and the crashing of rock into the hopper. Someone was loading. Surely, the claim had another outlet, as there was no evidence they were back-filling previous stopes with their spoil rock.
He inched toward the chute and its rough-hewn ladder. He wanted to lean over and get a look at whoever was loading. Perhaps, beyond luck, it was a Highlode below him. His heart was beat hard, his breaths were shallow and quick, and his hand drifted to the head of his hatchet.
“Welcome, stranger.”
Gretti jerked back and spun. Standing in the opening of the second drift was a dwarf, his beard dusty from work and tied with a series of leather thongs down his chest. In his hand, he held a hammer and a three-foot blackened ironmining bit. The dwarf’s narrowed eyes belied the welcome of his words.
“Achebelt!” the stranger shouted.
“Ay?” a dwarf yelled from down the chute.
“We’ve a visitor.”
Gretti heard the laborer grasp hold of the ladder and begin his climb. Something about the dwarf standing in the drift gave Gretti pause. There was a hardness there in the lines around his grey eyes. The relaxed set of his shoulders and the evenness of his breathing spoke of readiness. Gretti had faced many dwarves in fights over the past few years. This one concerned him.
“I did not mean to alarm you,” Gretti said.
“Who are you?”
“I am Greenholt. I am seeking piece work.”
“You have come far to seek piece work. We have no need of yowgan. Who told you we did?”
A head protruded from the chute. This one was also not Tornheft. It was possible they could be the other two Highlodes, but Gretti was not sure. He had thought he would recognize Loafhide, but now he doubted. Was there a family resemblance? The dwarf in the chute looked at Gretti with even more suspicion than the first.
“I am merely wandering the drifts in search of claims.” Gretti knew it was a poor excuse. He should have prepared something better. “If you have no work, I will move on.”
“You’d have more luck in the stew hall, friend,” the first dwarf said. He stood squarely in the opening of the second drift. The other dwarf climbed out of the chute and took a few steps toward his comrade, his hand resting on the knife at his waist.
“My thanks. I will try there,” Gretti said, and forced himself to turn and walk back the way he came. He listened, hand still on his axe, but they did not follow and no thrown axe sunk itself in his back. He hurried down the drift and did not stop but to listen more and make sure he was not followed.
They had not believed his poor lies, but if they suspected who he truly was, they had also not risked a fight. He still didn’t know if Tornheft was part of the claim at all, or if it was merely a report of someone who looked like him. He could not fight his way past those not guilty of the blood debt. Gretti’s right for vengeance did not supersede their right to defend their claim. Only if they attacked him first could it be counted just. Else, he must come upon Tornheft when the Highlode was alone.
Muttering curses, Gretti decided to go straight back to the Needle Claim and work a shift. At least there he could avoid being seen for a while. Any further attempt to find Tornheft in the Needle Claim would only be more dangerous, now.