Dan Willis - The Survivors

“And is it possible, I have to ask myself,” he added in a soft voice, “that he and the other believers are right, and that something is about to happen, something ominous, and that Reorx has done a few of us the favor of warning us of impending doom?”

“Enough!” Bladehook said, pointing furiously at him. “You’ve gone too far, Axeblade. You’re siding with the believers now-”

“No, I’m not, if you’ll just-”

“I call the vote!” Mayor Arbuckle interrupted, slamming down his gavel. “The council needs to rule on my proposed measure.”

More than two-thirds of the hands went up. Bradok, looking around, took solace in the fact that neither Much nor the bushy-bearded dwarf voted aye. But neither spoke up to defend him either.

“Let the scribes write up the decree,” Arbuckle said once he had gaveled the measure passed. “I don’t want any of the believers to be caught unawares. Fair warning to all is fair.”

“If there’s no other business,” Bladehook said, turning away wearily. “It’s late and I’m going home to my bed.”

“I have something to say,” Bradok said, standing rooted to the spot. “You have all heard my views. I cannot condone this chamber’s decision. While I’m not a believer myself, I have always felt that if other dwarves wish to believe in Reorx or not, that was none of my business. We supposedly live in a free society, one of laws and justice. Well, how can it be truly free if dwarves aren’t free to believe anything they wish?”

“I’m sorry, son,” Mayor Arbuckle said, coming up behind him and putting a hand on his shoulder, speaking in a tone that showed genuine feeling. “You’re just too young to understand what’s at stake here. We have to protect Ironroot for the greater good.”

Bradok stared at him then pointedly removed the mayor’s hand from his shoulder. “I understand that you see things that way,” he said. “That’s why I can no longer serve on this council.”

An astonished gasp issued from the councilmen. It was a great privilege to serve on the council, and more than two hundred years had passed since any dwarf had renounced his seat.

“I wish you well,” Bradok said wearily; he turned, descended the stairs behind his seat, and left the chamber.

The mob was still outside when Bradok pushed open the heavy doors of city hall. The number of guardsmen had more than doubled.

Taking a deep breath, he walked slowly down the steps and pushed his way right into the center of the mob. A rough hand descended on Bradok’s shoulder, and he was jerked around to stare into the bulb-nosed face of the impassioned Kellik Felhammer.

“I take it,” he said in his gravelly voice, his eyes taking in Bradok’s sad face, “that things didn’t go well in there?”

Bradok gripped the burly smith’s arm, holding him fast even though the other tried to break free, not knowing what to say.

“They’ve gone mad,” he managed at gasp at last. “Arbuckle and Bladehook have got them convinced that Argus and Silas and the street preachers are mixed up in some kind of plot to overthrow Ironroot and bring it under the religious rule of the priests.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Kellik said, his face at first disbelieving, then darkening into a scowl.

“It gets worse,” Bradok said as others close by leaned in to hear. “According to some believers, Ironroot has a week to repent before Reorx will destroy the place. When … if that doesn’t happen,” he corrected himself, “the council has declared that all believers must give up their faith or be executed as enemies of the city.”

Kellik swore as Bradok let him go and an angry muttering spread through the crowd. Bradok’s message was passed along.

“We’ll fight them,” Kellik said, turning to face the crowd and raising his voice to be heard by all. “We won’t let those self-important peacocks rule us by their whims. They’re our representatives, they answer to us, and we’re going to remind them of that fact.” He thrust his hammer into the air for emphasis.

“Wait,” Bradok said, lowering his voice lest he draw the attention of the guard on the city hall steps. “There are too many guardsmen here, and there are more inside. Don’t act recklessly. You’ll just get yourselves killed for no reason.”

Kellik fixed his eyes on Bradok, his look both disappointed and challenging. “If we let them get away with this now,” he said, “there’ll be no stopping them. They’ll rule this city with an iron fist. We have to strike now while we have the chance of surprise.”

Bradok opened his mouth to argue, but he stopped when he heard his name called out by someone in the throng.

“There you are,” Much said. A moment later the dwarf pushed himself through the mob. His face shone with sweat and his beard had begun to come unbraided, but he wore a look of supreme relief.

“I’m worried for you, lad, I surely am,” he said, clasping Bradok by the shoulders. “What you did in there was brave … stupid, but brave. Now you’re in a pickle, I bet.”

“What did he do?” Kellik asked, clearly unimpressed by Much’s praise.

“Oh, not much,” Much said. “He just stood up to them, the whole entire city council. Told them what he thought of their plan and it was a damn eloquent speech too. Then he resigned.”

The smith gave Bradok an appraising look then smiled. “You got stones, boy. I never would have guessed. You’re the perfect person to lead us against the council.”

“No,” Bradok said. “A war here and now will only give the council an excuse to carry out its sentence one week early.” He looked the big smith in the eyes. “Tell me, are you a believer?”

Kellik nodded.

“Trust me,” Bradok said to Kellik as Much listened. “If you have loved ones, get them quickly and meet me at the shop of Silas the cooper in the Artisans’ Cavern. Pass the word to any other believers,” Bradok said. “But do it quickly, we may not have much time.”

With that Bradok turned and pressed through the crowd to the open space beyond. Much shook Kellik’s hand solemnly and hurried to follow.

Bradok’s pace was measured, neither rushed nor leisurely, but purposeful. The cavern below city hall stood mostly empty, save for a few nervous dwarves, just getting the courage to emerge from their homes and shops since the guardsmen were gone.

Bradok’s determined stride brought him to his home in less than five minutes. Much grabbed his arm before he entered.

“What are you planning, lad?” Much demanded.

“I’m going to the cooper’s shop to finish what he started,” Bradok said.

“Finish that cockamamie ship?” Much said, his handlebar mustache bending down as he frowned. “Don’t tell me that now you believe he heard some god telling him to build it?”

Bradok sighed and looked back down the cavern toward city hall.

“I don’t know what I believe,” he said. “But I know this: If Arbuckle and Bladehook are right, then I prefer to be wrong.”

“I hear you there,” Much said, nodding.

“This is something I have decided to do, Much,” Bradok said. “You’re welcome to come with me, but I’ll understand if you don’t.”

Much released Bradok’s arm and stepped back onto the walk. He looked Bradok up and down and put out his arm. Bradok clasped it firmly.

“If this is good-bye, lad, I have to say it’s been a pleasure knowing you.”

“Likewise, old man,” Bradok said. Then he turned and vaulted up the steps to the front door.

Moments later he threw an old suit of traveling clothes and a heavy cloak into a worn leather pack with battered silver buckles. In his younger days, Bradok had traveled to faraway cities to complete his training as a master jeweler, and he still had his old travel kit. He unrolled the kit and laid the cloth out, quickly filling its many pockets with things he would need: a straight razor, folding knife, small stick of wax, and other sundries. When he finished, he rolled the kit up and tied it closed.