surprise to you. After all, you loaded up your horses and traveled for months on a roundabout course to get here-why wouldn’t somebody else do the same? And for money, no less, rather than the simple nobility you preach.”
“There were plenty of places to make money in Arkaria,” Cyrus said. “A dwarf with your skills could have had a place in any army-the Elven Kingdom, the Human Confederation, the Dark Elven Sovereignty, even your people in the Dwarven Alliance would have fallen over themselves to add your power to their cause, and they would have paid, too.” Cyrus waved vaguely toward Briyce Unger. “More than you’d know you were getting out of Unger, wandering blindly over here.”
“Who said anything about blindly or wandering?” Partus asked with a scowl. “One of my associates, one of the ones your lot killed, he was from here originally, came to Arkaria on a trading expedition a few years ago. He knew that Unger would pay good gold for help from Western mercenaries, so I came.”
“Mercenaries,” Cyrus said. “You used to be the leader of the Daring. They had ideals, beliefs, at least the ones of them I knew-Erith, Cass, Elisabeth-you’re telling me you wanted to give that up for mercenary work in another land?” Cyrus shook his head. “Smells like bullshit to me, Partus. What happened with you and Goliath that sent you scrambling? Did you get caught up in the exile?”
“I was gone long before that,” he said with a shake of his craggy head. “I heard about it, though. I was in the Gnomish Dominions, gathering moss on a garrison detail that had gotten quite a bit easier once your crew,” he waved at the Sanctuary force around them, “wiped out the Goblin Imperium. My busy guard duty, escorting convoys and whatnot, got pretty simple after that.” The dwarf seemed almost upset about it. “Only got to kill a few highwaymen, and that got old quickly.”
“So why leave Goliath?” Cyrus watched the dwarf for his reaction.
Partus played it cool, returning Cyrus a grin. “I had something of a … personality conflict with Malpravus and another of his officers. Caused us to go our separate ways not long after that clash in the Mountains of Nartanis with the Dragonlord.”
“You were there for that?” Cyrus asked.
“Hah! I was, but I’m not surprised you didn’t see me, covered as you were in the glory of the kill. I was there the day you killed Kalam, too, and the day you went into the Realm of Death with the allies and we all got caught up by the skeleton.” Partus smirked. “Course you wouldn’t notice, would you? I’m not exactly of a height that’d catch your eye. Besides,” he said, slightly surly, “I’m told all my people look alike to you tallfolk. Same gripe the gnomes got.”
“My best friend was a dwarf,” Cyrus said. “I’ve got no problem telling one dwarf from another. Besides, you’re bald, kind of fat, and you’ve got a braided beard.” He shrugged. “Hard to miss.”
“You had a friend who was a dwarf?” Partus watched him. “All right, I’ll bite. Who was it?”
“What, do all you dwarves know each other?”
“Yeah, we’re all members of the same club,” Partus snapped. “What was his name?”
Cyrus looked back to the road, watching the townsfolk watch him as they rode past. “His name was Narstron.”
“Oh, him,” Partus said with a nod. “Yeah, I knew him.”
“What?” Cyrus cast a look at him, and the way he said it was almost mocking. “You did not. There are millions of dwarves, and you’re telling me you know Narstron? Don’t lie.”
“No, it’s true,” Partus said. “I didn’t know him well, but I knew him in passing. He was my mother’s youngest sister’s fourth son. Went to the Society of Arms in Fertiss, and he died down in the depths of Enterra.”
“I didn’t see you at his funeral,” Cyrus said coldly.
“I’ve got a lot of cousins,” Partus said with a shrug. “One hundred and twelve, I think? A hundred and twenty by now, for all I know. I said I knew him in passing. It’s not like we were best of friends. I could pick him out of a crowd and he could likely do the same for me. I remember when he died, and you’re right, I didn’t go to the funeral. I thought, ‘what a shame for his mother,’ and then I went on living my life.” He shrugged again. “No reason to get all fussed about a near-stranger shuffling off; if I did, I’d spend all my days in mourning, because I know a lot of strangers that got kicked loose just a month ago as your army rode right through them-”
“Yeah, all right,” Cyrus said, “so you don’t have to get broken up by every person you’ve ever met that’s died. Still, he’s your blood, you might have shown a little compassion.”
“Perhaps you missed that number,” Partus said. “One hundred and twelve first cousins. Ten brothers and sisters. ’Course they’re all still living back home, but me, I’m out. If I was to worry about attending funerals for people just one generation back from me and those related to me like your friend, I’d be forever going to funerals.” The dwarf straightened in his saddle. “And get damn near nothing else done, like folk back home do.”
“Wow,” Cyrus said. “You’re a real wellspring of humanity.”
“I sense your sarcasm,” Partus said with unconcern, “but you should hardly be surprised. After all,” the dwarf said with a glint in his eyes, “I’m not human at all.”
They came to a crossroad. To Cyrus’s right, the cliff’s edge loomed. When Cyrus looked over it he saw the next level down carved into the mountain, only fifty or so feet below, and the next below that.
“Unforgiving avenue,” Mendicant said from somewhere behind him. “What happens if someone slips on this?”
“They fall,” Terian said. “All the way down.”
“All the way?” Mendicant looked over his shoulder, and his green scales seemed to dim in color. “Oh.”
They made their way up the hill to the front gates of the castle Scylax, and Briyce Unger waved them forward. “We’ll stay here for the night, enjoy my hospitality, and tomorrow we’ll be on our way north again.”
“How far are we going?” Cyrus asked.
Unger’s smile faded slightly. “Not as far as I’d like. It seems that this scourge has moved south rather quickly. They’re only a week north now. Seem to have stopped their forward movement for a bit, for whatever reason.”
“Consolidating power?” Longwell asked, looking around from horseback down the hill. “Awaiting reinforcements of some kind?”
“Hard to know if they’re awaiting reinforcements when we don’t have a bloody clue where these things are coming from,” Unger said with a shrug. “Perhaps if we can drive them back, far enough north, we’ll find the source of their numbers.”
“How far north does your territory stretch?” Cyrus asked.
“A good ways,” Unger said. “All the way until the land gets too inhospitable, where the weather is bitter cold, even in the summertime. Our farthest town north used to be a village called Mountaintop, nestled in the last valley before a terribly tall peak with sheer slopes. There were trails where you could go farther from there, but between the wolves and all else, if you struck out to go farther your odds of coming back became exceedingly poor.”
“So the real wonder,” Cyrus said, “is if these creatures came from north of there.”
They followed Unger up to the castle Scylax, which was even more impressive upon Cyrus’s inspection. A steward offered a tour, taking them through the grand entry (which was not so grand as Vernadam’s) and around. The curtain wall extended around the cliff’s edge, providing a fine look off the side of the mountain below. The only direction one could assault the castle from, Cyrus conceded, was the town of Scylax below, and even that would be a disastrous feat to attempt for any army. Any assault up a steep road would come under an approach covered by bowmen as the gates to the castle were surrounded on both sides by two long protrusions of the wall. The last fifty yards in particular were totally exposed to arrow fire from both sides of the approach.
Within the keep Cyrus found the towers to his liking. They were more wood than stone, and furs were used for decoration far more than cloth. Instead of blankets on Cyrus’s bed, he found a bearskin, big, shaggy, and comfortable. Wood floors, wood furnishings and a chest decorated the room. He sat on the bed after being showed to his quarters and reflected that although it wasn’t nearly as comfortable as the one at Vernadam, it was
