Josh Reynolds - Neferata

‘I assumed you got tired of being shown up,’ Neferata said, turning to examine the central room of the outpost. It was barren of ornamentation, as befitting a dwarf outpost. The rough stone walls curved in a fashion that Neferata knew no human artisan could accomplish, and the whole of the outpost put her in mind of an overlarge animal den. There were other tunnels splitting off from the main chamber, leading to other hidden apertures, perhaps. Racks of weapons were mounted on the walls, including a few whose design and purpose escaped her completely. ‘I did out-drink you, after all.’ She looked at Razek.

Razek grunted. ‘Only because I took it easy on you,’ he said. ‘Why are you here? This is of no concern to Strigos.’

Dwarfs could be touchy about matters of honour. They weren’t a folk to accept aid gladly, or even at all. Neferata knew that she had to tread carefully in the next few minutes. ‘I come to offer aid to our allies,’ she said formally. ‘We humbly ask that you accept what small help we can give to the throng of Karaz Bryn.’

Razek scratched his chin. ‘And what form does that aid take? Surely it’s not just you two…’

Neferata made a face. ‘And if it was?’ she said, in mock anger. ‘Am I of no consequence, then? Is my ability in question?’ Dwarfs respected one who was quick to defend their honour. In this case, it was more for the benefit of the other dwarfs in the outpost than for Razek, who was cunning enough to recognise her ploy for what it was. It was that same cunning which had necessitated the ending of their association, so many years ago. She pressed on. ‘My forces wait in the reaches to the east, and our allies to the west and the south.’

‘Allies, is it?’ Razek said. He looked at the dwarf who had brought Neferata in. ‘Ratcatcher, feel free to chime in, eh?’

Ratcatcher grunted and gnawed on one of his plaits. ‘Aye, there are manlings massing in those regions right enough. But they’re tribesmen — barely a step above the orcs themselves. We figured they were just preparing to defend themselves against the orcs, same as we are.’ He looked at Neferata with newfound respect. ‘If she’s got them working together, they could punch the urk right in the belly.’

Razek looked back at her. ‘And how’d you do that, then?’ he demanded.

She shrugged. ‘I have my ways.’

‘You promised them weapons,’ Razek said grimly. Neferata blinked. Momentarily nonplussed, she studied Razek and said nothing. He glared at her. ‘Dwarf weapons, Neferata, sold in good faith to our allies .’ His emphasis on the last two words was tinged with bitterness. What did he know, she wondered? Obviously her people had not been as efficient at ferreting out Razek’s spies as she had assumed, but that was a problem for another time. Right now, she had to convince him to work with her.

‘And paid for with our gold,’ Neferata said softly. It was a calculated insult. Dwarfs lived by the law of debts, and to remind a dwarf of that was, Neferata had come to learn, the equivalent of questioning his competency. The bitter odour of dwarf anger filled her nostrils as Razek continued to glare. ‘We do not play foul with you, thane of the Silver Pinnacle. But it is not your remit to tell us whom we may do business with,’ she said.

Razek held her eyes. It was impossible to tell what was going on behind his stony gaze and Neferata didn’t even bother to try. Finally, Razek gave a snort. ‘You know they’ll take those weapons and stick them right up the Strigoi’s fundament, don’t you?’

‘Yes, but not any time soon,’ she said. ‘The orcs are here now.’ Razek grunted, though whether in agreement or otherwise, she couldn’t say.

‘We don’t need them,’ Ratcatcher said, looking at her contemptuously. ‘Our warriors would only be hampered by the presence of manlings.’

‘True enough,’ Neferata said, throwing off her cloak and taking a seat at the stone table. She gestured. ‘Then, this isn’t about “need” but about debts owed, isn’t that correct, Razek?’ She leaned forwards. ‘Have we not been good allies, Razek? We have helped you, and you have helped us, but is it not meet that allies shed blood as well as gold and beer?’

Razek raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you saying we owe you a debt?’ he said slowly. Then, ‘Or perhaps it’s the other way around?’

‘Neither,’ Neferata said. ‘Or maybe it is both.’ She made a fist. ‘We would show you how much we value the friendship of Karaz Bryn, Razek.’

‘We don’t need your blood, woman,’ Razek said dismissively. ‘Manlings die too easily for it to be worth much.’

‘Strigoi die harder than most,’ Neferata said. She stood and drew her sword with a flourish. The dwarfs reacted much as she expected, some drawing weapons, others racing to the wall where crossbows and other deadly tools waited. Razek, however, didn’t move so much as a muscle. ‘Part of that is due to the benefits of our alliance,’ she said, ignoring the startled dwarfs and laying the sword down on the table between them, its hilt towards Razek. ‘Good dwarf iron,’ she said. ‘It is wielded by the hands of men.’

Razek’s hand settled on the hilt and he lifted the blade as if it were a toy. He examined it with a critical eye and then set it back down. ‘And what is that to us?’

‘Progress,’ Neferata said. ‘The Silver Pinnacle is the wheel and we but the spokes. Together, we can move mountains.’

Some of the dwarfs muttered at that. Progress was a dirty word to some dawi. Change, that inevitable taskmaster, was their enemy as much as the orcs. Razek’s expression remained the same. Then, abruptly, he leaned forwards. ‘I’m listening,’ he said.

The discussion went on for hours. Others dwarfs joined in, mostly to disagree with her in Khazalid, likely assuming she wouldn’t understand. For the purposes of peace, she pretended that such was the case. It had taken her a decade to even gain a working knowledge of the language and two more to become fluent. It might take her another three to learn the strange, soft subtleties of the dwarf tongue. But she knew it well enough to know when she was being insulted.

The one called Ratcatcher was the most vociferous in that regard. The ranger had little love for humans, it seemed. Razek nodded brusquely at times, his eyes never leaving Neferata. When she spoke, he listened, but only grunted in reply.

If she had been human, her voice would have given out. Even so, she pretended to wet her throat with the beer they’d brought for her. The arguments were easy to make, for she had practised them for months prior to arranging this meeting. Years, in fact; one did not enter into negotiations with dwarfs lightly. In Mourkain, their merchants were known to haggle for days over the price of a single dollop of iron ore. But the dawi had arguments of their own.

At its heart, it all came down to trust. Mourkain had lost the trust of the dwarfs of the Silver Pinnacle centuries ago, and they had yet to gain it back. Trade was merely business. A true alliance could only exist between two equal partners.

Ushoran could never understand such a thing. He thought the dwarfs were pawns, when in truth, they could never be such. At the first hint of treachery or deceit, they would tear Mourkain apart stone by stone. And Neferata could not allow that to happen. Not until a time of her choosing. Eventually, Mourkain would need to be shattered, so that she could rebuild it into something stronger, but not now.

So instead, she spoke, her words hammering against dwarf stubbornness. There was no eloquence to it, no art, only those parts of the truth which she had hammered into the proper shape to fit her needs. And, finally, ‘What’s your answer? Will Karaz Bryn and Strigos fight together?’