Chapter 10

They banked around the final ridge and discovered that Feoh Berkana’s trading outpost was most definitely not in the state that they had left it in. If not for the slow stream of traffic to the gates of the Dwarven capital, Ilyshn’ish would have believed that she had somehow ended up in the wrong place entirely. The Vampire Bride informed them that it was in poor condition, but this was decidedly a gross understatement.

The outpost – in reality a massive fortress that guarded the surface gates of the old Dwarven capital far larger than the one over Feoh Jura – stood no longer. Whether an inevitability of the relentless march of time or resulting from the merciless assault of the elements, a large portion of the mountain face had been shed: taking most of the fortress with it. In the grey hours of the dawn, the imposing entryway to the capital lay oddly exposed to the open skies over a vast flow of broken stone that disappeared into the misty valleys below.

Ilyshn’ish cast a pointed look over at her brother.

“W-what?” Hejinmal said nervously.

“I was thinking about how you were probably the pebble that set off this avalanche.”

“No matter how round I appear, I’m still just a Dragon!” Her brother refuted the assertion, “Besides, weren’t you the last to leave?”

“And just what are you implying by that?”

“N-nothing, dear sister.”

The high mountain winds buffeted them along their descent, and they skimmed over the beginning of a long snarl of traffic on the mountain trail. Many of the Dwarves in the sledges cried out and ducked their heads, but the Soul Eaters were unsatisfyingly unresponsive.

In the gaping chasm where the fortress once stood, an impromptu bridge composed of iron lengths spanned the distance to the gate. There was nowhere for Dragons to land but at the lip that remained before the access shaft so, rather than being redirected to the city proper, they really had no choice but to go straight in.

They circled over the gate until a Vampire Bride stopped the traffic long enough to create a space to land in. Hejinmal landed first, and Ilyshn’ish slipped into the tunnel after him. She did not release her enchantments, lest he cause a different sort of avalanche by losing strength and tumbling down the ramp. Somehow, she suspected that blame might be pinned on her, and she didn’t feel like experiencing whatever would result from that.

Ilyshn’ish was forced to stare at Heminjal’s rump for over an hour while the traffic trickled down, deep into the mountain. If not for Hejinmal’s rotund body, two-way traffic of the sledges and even other Frost Dragons was possible, so she felt particularly subject to scrutiny as her brother created additional delays. It was an unfamiliar and uncomfortable sensation, as Dragons generally did not worry about such things as inconveniencing others or being in the way. Ilyshn’ish wondered if some sort of strange magic was being worked over her, or it was simply her awareness of the world around her expanding as her personal experiences did.

They emerged from the shaft into the commercial quarter of Feoh Berkana, and a Vampire Bride called out to them.

“This way,” she said, waving a pale arm over her head.

They were guided to the old, half-collapsed remains of a merchant inn. Once a sturdy structure of solid stone and hardwood timber frames, the foraging of the Quagoa and the centuries since it last saw any maintenance had reduced it to a single floor. The tavern that occupied most of the main floor had been cleared of ruined furniture and scattered debris – the sturdy stone counter converted into a reception desk for the office while newly made shelves had been installed and filled with parcels. A pair of Vampire Brides retrieved the Infinite Haversacks from Ilyshn’ish and Hejinmal, placing them on the reception counter.

“There doesn’t seem to be enough room to store everything,” Hejinmal noted.

“Yes,” one of the Vampire Brides let out a small sigh. “Our deliveries are operating as scheduled, but the Dwarves utilizing our service appear to have no schedule to speak of. Since they have not picked up their parcels, we have filled the entire space that we initially thought would be suitable for our office.”

“They don’t want their treasures?” Ilyshn’ish furrowed her brow, “Why would they bother sending parcels over if they don’t plan on retrieving them?”

“The reason is not clear,” the Vampire Bride replied. “We’ve sent word of the delays but they only seem to get progressively worse. The queue of Soul Eaters outside is nearly a kilometre long, so we’ve made the recommendation to put deliveries from Feoh Jura on hold until whatever it is that’s causing the problem is resolved.”

Ilyshn’ish raised her head, stretching her neck to look out over the city street. While the sledges continued to trickle in slowly, she could see the point further in where traffic had stalled entirely, clogging up the main thoroughfare and spilling into the side avenues and alleys. Distant shouts punctuated the air, bouncing off of the massive stone colonnades that spanned from the ceiling to the floor of the cavern. She strained her hearing to make out the dim echoes over the city, but could not piece together anything coherent.

“Does that mean we’re on standby until there’s room again?” Hejinmal asked, and Ilyshn’ish lowered her head to return to the conversation.

“Until either we negotiate more storage space,” the Vampire Bride replied, “or whatever is causing the delays is resolved, operations are at a standstill.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Hejinmal brightened. “Maybe we could get a bite to eat…dear sister, did you have anything stashed away nearby?”

“I do,” Ilyshn’ish said, “but you’re not getting any. You need to lose weight, dear brother.”

“Ehh…”

“Don’t ‘ehh…’ me. I have absolutely no desire to tail you forever.”

Ilyshn’ish looked around for a moment before turning to walk around the tavern towards an alley nearby.

“Where are you going?” The Vampire Bride asked

“Seeing what these Dwarves are up to,” Ilyshn’ish looked over the wall and back down at her. “You said we’re on hold for the time being, yes?”

“Well, if you can find out what’s going on…make sure you check back in an hour, just in case there are any new developments here.”

Ilyshn’ish didn’t bother replying, turning the corner into an alley and disappearing from view.

Rather than immediately altering her appearance, she found a good vantage from where she could quietly observe the slow buildup of Dwarves arriving in the city. The various stone busts, portraits and statues that remained around the old royal palace provided her with a good initial reference for their appearance, but, with so many new subjects on hand, she could refine it into a more personalized look that would better fit in with their kind.

While Ilyshn’ish seemed to have accurately estimated their height and stout stature, as well as most of their basic features, there were a few points on which she had clearly erred. Female Dwarves, for instance, did not have such long beards as the one she had emulated from an iconic bust in the Royal Palace, thinking it an outward sign of prestige. There was no such frosty blue hair colour either, so she would need to shorten the beard and alter the colours to match. Their complexion as a whole was far more rugged than she had estimated.

With nearly all of them wearing dull travelling garb rather than the lighter, refined, robes she was accustomed to using, she decided to simply fit in by using the same, ubiquitous fashion as the masses. Well, maybe she spruced things up just a bit – it would not do to be looked down upon.

Satisfied with her adjusted mental image, Ilyshn’ish wove her magic and a rather average looking Dwarf female with steely-blonde hair and a short beard walked out of the alley shortly after. There were already hundreds of Dwarves waiting in the streets, so the appearance of one more did not seem to draw any notice from anyone. Squeezing by several sledges, she stopped when she came upon a bored-looking female Dwarf absently chewing on a piece of dried meat.

“Do you know what’s going on up ahead?” Ilyshn’ish asked, “This is getting to be quite the delay…”

She spoke in Dwarvish tongue, fearing that using her native Draconic would inevitably give her away if she used the wrong words or the translation came out strangely – this happened once, when she had tried mixing in with a group of Quagoa as a test for the magic. Hopefully, her speech appeared to be passable. The Dwarf woman looked down at her from her seat at the edge of the freight bed, and her dangling legs stopped swinging. She gave her a pointed once-over which made Ilyshn’ish straighten nervously.

“Fights’ve started at the gate into the residential quarter,” the Dwarf finally replied to her question. “It’s what’s come up the way, anyways.”

“Fights?” Ilyshn’ish frowned, “But we just got here.”

“You tell me,” the Dwarf snorted. “Finally come back after two centuries and you’d think things should be lookin’ up. But nope – first thing’s a half dozen idiots ‘bout to start a feud over who gets to move into their grandpappy’s place.”

Fighting over territory already? That did not make much sense to Ilyshn’ish. She did not know how many Dwarves there were, but if the abandoned and ruined satellite cities were any indicator, Feoh Berkana was much larger than Feoh Jura. If the Dwarf nation planned on reclaiming all of their cities, grinding to a halt in order to fight over the first sliver of territory that appeared before them was utterly foolish. Reasonable races would simply spread out over the area, and only compete for resources when there were none left.

“Just who is running things here?”

“People sent by the council – who it actually is, beats me,” the woman smirked. “Officials looked so proud too, telling us that we were coming back to start a new golden age…fah! The only thing’s started is a giant mess.”

“It can’t be all that bad,” Ilyshn’ish offered. “They’re probably just being s–”

She clamped her mouth shut: she was going to say stubborn, but Dwarves were notoriously so. Saying such an obvious thing would have probably attracted suspicion. Her lips parted, and she let out her breath in a huff.

“Stupid? You bet,” the woman appeared to have misread her. “You look like you’re from some rich and influential clan – maybe you could go up there and un-stupid them for us so we can all get on with our lives.”

Ilyshn’ish dipped her head slightly to the woman and slipped away before any more misunderstandings could occur. Her Blindsight still worked perfectly even while she appeared as a Dwarf, and she navigated through the otherwise-confusing snarl of sledges and bodies with minimal effort. The street grew more packed as she made her way forward, and she stopped beside a building when the shouting grew noticeably louder.

A Dwarf was standing on a stone bench along the wall, running his gaze over the throng. He held a long-handled hammer and a tall shield, with a dark suit of plate mail and helm to match. His visor was raised; grim expression somewhere between annoyance and wary watchfulness.

“Is it getting worse?” Ilyshn’ish looked up at him.

“Hm? That’s…” His gaze flickered over her as he responded to her voice, “It might not be as bad as it seems, miss. Letting them stand there hurling insults at one another sure doesn’t help though.”

“What about the council? Who did they send?”

“The Cabinet Secretary’s men – tax thieves, if you ask me.”

“Did they do something to start all this?”

“They’ve put themselves in charge of everything that every other councillor isn’t,” he grunted and resumed his watch over the surroundings. “That’s why nothing works past this point: they’re so used to managing desperate refugees for generations that they thought they could just do the same when it comes to moving back in. Now that the people have grown a spine over their ancestral holdings, these spineless officials are powerless. All they’re good for is turning everything into a bureaucratic mess and blowing hot air.”

“But there’s so many waiting outside, and even more coming…”

“Then it looks like we’re going to have a lot of people sleeping wherever they are tonight.”

The man sighed and looked back down at her.

“Look, miss,” he said, “if your clan has any clout here, we’d all appreciate it if you’d help get things moving along.”

Ilyshn’ish bobbed her head and left the Dwarf to his watch, working her way further into the crowd.

Soon there were far fewer vehicles and far more bodies where the mass of curious onlookers observed the ongoing altercation. The expressions around her were varied: some were amused, others expectant. A sizable portion crossed their arms in grim silence with uncertain looks on their faces.

The six-way shouting match continued between the Dwarves in front of the gate, and a row of more expensively-dressed ones – whom she assumed to be the Cabinet Secretary’s men – attempted to intervene with exasperated expressions and no success.

“How long has this been going on for?” Ilyshn’ish asked when she came near to the edge of the crowd.

An elderly Dwarf to the front turned at the sound of her voice, and his eyes widened in shock upon seeing her.

“Oh…” he said weakly, placing a grizzled hand over his chest.

His mouth continued to work silently and she furrowed her brow at his reaction. The aged Dwarf turned away. Why did these people keep reacting like this? She lightly brushed her stubby fingers through her hair to make sure she hadn’t accidentally left her horns on her head or something.

“Too long,” another Dwarf muttered to the side, gaze fixed to the continuing argument. “They need to just drag them off to the side and have them figure this out elsewhere. Well, I guess that’d only help until the next group of louts comes in with conflicting claims.”

“Then why don’t they? There’s plenty of free space in the city.”

“Because it’s the Cabinet Secretary’s men,” he said. “If it was the Commander, he’d have hauled their asses off instantly. There’s just too few soldiers now, though. What little we had in Feoh Jura’s now split between keeping order between two cities.”

“You work for the Commander?”

“Yep, was my turn to get the missus and the kids moved in…now this.” He motioned into the air at nothing in particular as the argument rose in volume again, “The Council’s served well enough in holding things together, I guess, but now that we’re reclaiming our Kingdom, what we need is a King. It’s the King that all the families – all the clans – ultimately answer to, and the Secretary of the King’s Cabinet won’t be able to maintain a regency forever.”

“But the Royal House…”

“Vanished with the Demon Gods, I know,” he sighed. “That’s the catch, ain’t it?”

Ilyshn’ish shook her head. Dwarves were silly beyond belief. If they needed a ruler, then they should just have the strongest rule over them. If anyone disputed that rule, they could just challenge it. As for the argument in front of her…it had a simple enough solution.

By all appearances, each seemed to assert their precedence by listing off the lineage which connected them to their ancestor, followed by any achievements and feats by said lineage that might earn them the distinction of being considered the most prominent branch of the family. The louder, it seemed, the better – but Ilyshn’ish believed she would only need to be heard.

“Can’t ya get this through your thick skull of yers, cousin? My pa’s Radur, son of Thondin, son of–”

“Bomor, son of Malvur, of clan Cragbeard,” Ilyshn’ish’s voice sounded clearly over the street in front of the gatehouse.

The six arguing Dwarves, the Cabinet Secretary’s officials, as well as nearly the entire crowd all at once turned their attention towards her. It took everything she had to not rear up and fly away beneath their sudden scrutiny.

“That’s right, miss,” the Dwarf she interrupted nodded. “You got something to add so we can finally get things sorted here?”

“I do,” she replied. “You are all descended from Thondin, son of Bomor, yes?”

“Well…I got my doubts about some of these lizards,” he said, and the others reacted poorly at his jab, “but let’s just say that we are one way or another, hm?”

“Two hundred years ago,” she said, “during the siege of Feoh Berkana by the Demon Gods, Thondin was an honoured Captain of the Palace Guard – charged with the defence of the eastern approaches.”

As one, the arguing Dwarves straightened, chests and heads held high at the recounting of their grandfather’s tale.

“That’s something we all know, miss,” one of them said. “You got something else to break this stalemate?”

“On the second night of the Demon Gods’ assault, the King himself happened to come across Thondin: abandoning his post. He was attempting to flee the city, even as the civilians he was charged with protecting were still being evacuated. By royal decree, Thondin, son of Bomor was stripped of his rank and title – his line exiled from the Kingdom for his craven conduct in Feoh Berkana’s greatest hour of need.”

The soldiers at the gate to the residential quarter immediately snapped to attention, purposely striding forward to apprehend the six descendants of the cowardly guardsman. The air exploded into a cacophony of Dwarf voices: an endless rain of angry curses and vehement insults that mercilessly pelted them.

“You…you bitch!” One of the Dwarves pressed down to the street shouted, “How dare you! Our grandfather was a Hero – A HERO! He stood with our King, to defend the people! You and all of your kin will pay for this slander!”

The ire of the crowd was subdued somewhat. The soldiers still kept their hold on their captives, however, and the Cabinet Secretary’s men looked towards her.

“Is it not written?” Ilyshn’ish answered their collective, unspoken, question simply.

The officials exchanged glances, and one of them retrieved a large sack from the ground nearby, placing it on a large table. From it, he pulled forth tome after tome – nearly all of them Ilyshn’ish immediately recognized as a part of her own hoard. She suppressed the urge to snatch them back as everyone awaited the answer. He finally brought out the tome in question that she had referenced, carefully flipping through it to find the record. All eyes were on the official, breaths held, as he silently mouthed the venerated Dwarven histories before relaying his findings.

“It’s true. Every single detail is as she said. Just how…”

The Dwarf’s words faded away as he looked back up towards the mysterious figure, but she was nowhere to be found.