Dan Willis - The Survivors

He didn’t want to admit it, but it felt good-sitting there in a councilman’s seat. Maybe his mother was right; maybe there was something special about the power he was able to wield from that chair. He was a dwarf of influence.

Bradok pushed the thought away as soon as it lit on his consciousness. Looking up at the boxes above, he reasoned that if Sapphire was right about something, he probably didn’t want to know about it.

His eyes found the box where his mother sat. She had pulled the curtains aside and was looking down at him with a smile of anticipation on her face.

An hour later, Mayor Arbuckle climbed to the top of the massive stone podium and struck the gavel, calling the meeting to order. The gallery and the bulk of the private boxes had filled, and the constant drone of the assembled crowd could be heard. As Mayor Arbuckle welcomed everyone, Bradok’s eyes wandered over the gallery above the private boxes. There, a collection of tradesman and business owners had gathered, presumably to keep tabs on the council’s deliberations and how they might affect business in the city. But as he reached the end of the gallery, Bradok beheld a strange sight. On the far left sat the raggedy dwarf from the alley, still carrying his red-painted sign.

Repent lest the Gods forsake us .

Bradok smiled at the sight. Ironroot was a city, like any other. There were good folk and bad, places of legitimate business and brothels, artisans’ shops and gambling houses. Ironroot might have its share of wickedness, but Bradok reasoned that, all things considered, its people didn’t have any great cause to repent.

“… and I want you to join me in welcoming our newest member,” Arbuckle’s voice suddenly cut through Bradok’s wandering thoughts. “One of our most skilled and prominent citizens, Bradok Axeblade.”

He stood as polite applause broke out from the gallery and the other councilmen.

With the perfunctory matters dispensed with, the meeting settled down to real business. Several citizens approached with petitions of one kind or another. The council heard them and accepted or rejected them after modest debate. Bradok made his first votes-in a nervous, loud voice-much to Sapphire’s delight.

When the locals had been heard, the delegates from the hill dwarf city of Everguard were ushered into the hall. Like all their brethren, they stood a bit taller than their mountain dwarf cousins. Their clothes were coarse by comparison, designed for the harsher elements of the upper world and cut to be functional without the need of decoration. As they entered, two of their number pulled the covered handcart that Bradok had seen earlier with them.

The delegation consisted of ten dwarves, representing Everguard’s biggest industries. Once they had assembled in the center of the hall, their leader stepped forward and pulled back her hood.

Bradok’s wandering attention was immediately riveted. The burnished copper hair was unmistakable.

“My name is Rose Steelspar,” she said in a clear voice. “Daughter of Larin Steelspar, Burger of Everguard.”

“That’s like a mayor,” Much whispered from the table to Bradok’s right.

“I come to you in my father’s name and in good fellowship,” she went on. “As a token of that fellowship, I bring you a gift from the people of Everguard.”

The dwarves pulling the handcart brought it forward and removed the tarp. Underneath were dozens of baskets stuffed with fresh fruit-something very hard to come by in Ironroot. Quickly the dwarves with the handcart passed out baskets to all the councilmen. Bradok selected a large, golden pear for himself before he sent the rest of his basket up to Sapphire.

He was tempted to just sit there and enjoy the taste of the pear and the sight of the red-haired girl, but he forced himself to sit up straight and pay attention. As a representative of Ironroot, he resolved to listen to what the delegation had to say.

Try as he might, however, his attention kept wandering to their spokesperson’s pretty face, to the red hair and the dark eyes and the competent voice.

As best as he could figure out, Bradok gathered that Everguard would like to find ready markets for their grain, hay, cloth, and leather-things that Ironroot certainly needed. But even though Ironroot needed such goods, and even though Everguard needed ore and stone and metalwork, the council had put heavy tariffs on all those goods, which restricted their commerce. It made no sense to Bradok. Finally he leaned over and asked Much.

“We’re the only source for what they need and the only ready market nearby,” Much whispered. “We raise the prices of doing business here because there really isn’t anywhere else for them to go. They’re just a small town. They can’t afford to mount big trade missions.”

“So we take advantage of their misfortune to line the pockets of our tradesmen?” Bradok asked, genuinely shocked.

Much chuckled. “Of course not,” he said, as if such a thing could never be. “The excess from the tariff goes to the council.”

Bradok simply gaped as every petition the hill dwarf delegation brought up was rejected after a modicum of polite debate. While the farce went on, Much whispered in Bradok’s ear, explaining which council members were beholden to which concerns and what their respective cut of the tariffs might be.

“But wouldn’t there be more money to go around if the tariffs were reduced and the trade increased?” Bradok asked Much.

The little dwarf nodded with a helpless sort of a smile. “Of course,” he said. “But if we remove the restrictions, that eliminates our rake-off, and we can’t have that, now can we?”

Bradok had thought his father had been crooked, but the council was organized crookery. What he witnessed was corruption on a level Bradok could barely grasp. Mirshawn had owned brothels, drug palaces, and gambling halls, but he’d never forced anyone to frequent them. The city council, on the other hand, used the power of the law and the threat of arrest by the city guard to extort money from anyone who wanted to earn an honest living.

It made him sick.

He looked around the room at the figures behind the richly carved tables, vainly seeking a soulmate among his colleagues. Each wore fine, costly clothes with jeweled rings on their hands, gold clips on their beards, and silver buckles on their belts and boots. The dwarves of Ironroot trusted those men to rule wisely, to look out for the interests of the people and the city itself. Instead, the councilmen were busy lining their own pockets.

No wonder Mirshawn felt so comfortable here, he thought. It’s nothing more than a den of thieves.

Bradok considered saying something on behalf of the hill dwarves, but he dismissed the thought almost as soon as it came. Sapphire’s warning came back to him. If he took a stand, he would single himself out as an enemy of the council. Bradok had enough experience with wealth and power to know that would be distinctly unwise.

Finally, when Rose had exhausted all her arguments, she thanked the council for its time and led her dejected companions from the chamber. Bradok felt for them. He wanted to go after them and tell them that it wasn’t fair, but that wouldn’t change anything.

As the hill dwarves trudged away, a short, solidly built dwarf in rough leather garments entered. His hair had been combed to one side to cover a bald spot on top of his head, and his beard was braided and tied with a leather strap. Bradok recognized him but couldn’t quite remember his name. He was a dowser by profession, seeking gems, crystals, and glowstones in the deep tunnels below Ironroot. Bradok had bought stones from him and knew him to be an honest tradesman.

“Argus Deephammer to petition the council,” the scribe announced as the dwarf made his way to the center of the chamber.