David Chandler - A thief in the night

“Reve-whats?”

Cythera frowned. “The reanimated elves. The spirits seeking justice for past crimes. How did you get down here without encountering them?”

“She didn’t come… through the front… gate,” Slag said.

Balint brayed at the idea. “ You did? I knew you were a fool. But just how stupid are you?”

“I’m guessing-oh, bugger, this hurts-I’m guessing you came… through the escape shaft… in the residential level,” Slag said.

Balint shrugged. “Why don’t you guess in one hand, and shit in the other, and see which one fills up first?”

“But why now?” Malden demanded. “This is no coincidence, all of us here at precisely the same time.”

“Hardly! We had to stick prods up our horses’ arseholes just to get here before you lot. We spent the last week breaking through the seal on one of the emergency exits, and just got here a few hours ago. We almost didn’t make it before you, but then, Urin here always was a tad off in his calculations.” She gave Slag another kick.

“Hold-you know Slag?” Malden asked. “Except you called him-”

“Not now, Malden,” Cythera cut in. “Please, milady Balint, tell me why you’re here. Maybe we can help you with your needs.”

The blueling tapped its way over to where Cythera stood. She allowed it to palpate her foot, though it looked to Malden like she was having a hard time not kicking it away.

Balint deigned to explain a few things. “About three months ago, some big futtock with a red chin like he was drooling blood came to Redweir. Asked a lot of uncomfortable questions about the Vincularium. Even knowing which questions to ask meant he knew too much already. Still, we figured he didn’t have an arsehole’s chance of getting inside this place, so we gave him one seriously nasty look and let it drop. Big mistake. Next thing we know, he’s seen in that piss-pot Ness. Well, they take all kinds in that place, don’t they? Isn’t that right, you whey-faced catamite?”

She kicked Slag again.

Malden took a step forward and raised his blade. “If you strike him again, I’ll shave you bald with this thing.”

Balint snorted in derision. “He deserves a lot worse than that, the fucking debaser. Now, as I was saying, this big red-faced arsehole went to Ness, and there he found the one dwarf in Skrae who would even talk to him. Which meant he actually had a chance of finding a way in here. So we took it upon ourselves to make sure he didn’t get what he was after.”

“The barrels? But Morget didn’t come for them,” Cythera said. “He came to kill a demon that he tracked here.” She shook her head. “Please. It doesn’t matter why we came. You have what you wanted. The barrels are out of our reach. I’m willing to accept that, and surrender them to you without further unpleasantness.”

“Oh, aye? Well, I’m not!” Slag grumbled.

Cythera closed her eyes. “Balint. Our friend was struck by a poisoned dart. I hate to say this, but-I believe you placed that trap.”

“Good one, too,” Balint agreed. “One of my best.”

“Now he’s sickening, and he’s going to die.” Cythera lowered her head. “Since you’ve already won-perhaps you’d be gracious enough, in your victory, to give us the antidote to your poison.”

Balint scratched at her mustache. “Antidote? Now why the fuck would I have any of that on me?”

Cythera clutched her hands together, beseeching the dwarf one last time. “You have no antidote. I see. Very well. Then at least take us out of here. Please, I beg of you. Take us back to the surface. If you don’t, he’ll die.”

“If you don’t you’ll be Slag’s murderer,” Malden added.

“Who? Little me?” Balint laughed. “I didn’t shoot him with that dart.”

“What difference does that make?” Malden said.

“All the difference in the world. At least as far as the law is concerned. A dwarf can’t use a weapon, not anywhere in Skrae. So I didn’t. I just built one. Oh, true. I left the thing where he was bound to stumble on it, clumsy fuck that he is. But he could have avoided it if he was a little more careful.”

“You have a funny idea of guilt and culpability,” Malden said. Though he knew she was correct. The law said that a human who killed a dwarf, even by accident, would forfeit his life. Dwarves, on the other hand, were held to a more lenient standard. They could not wield traditional weapons, and they were forbidden from attacking anyone directly. Yet if they caused a death indirectly-through, say, laying a poison dart trap-they were held free of guilt. That loophole in the treaty was why they’d become so good at building cunning and insidious traps-and why humans always watched their step around angry dwarves.

“Ignore him,” Cythera insisted. She implored Malden with her eyes to hold his tongue. He just looked away. “He’s just upset because his friend is dying,” Cythera went on. “Listen to me, Balint. Slag still has a chance to survive if I can reach the surface. I can save him. But down here, he’ll perish, surely.”

Balint shrugged. “As far as the king of the dwarves is concerned, this motherless snot-drip died a long time ago. When we exile somebody, they stop being a dwarf, for all practical intents.”

Balint kept throwing out references to Slag’s past that Malden caught, but time was too short to follow up on them. Still, he filed them away for later. Slag had been exiled? He was a debaser? Whatever that was. His real name was… Urin? Malden had so many questions.

“You,” he said, fuming with anger, “could stop being a dwarf right now.” He began to lift the sword.

A hand grabbed his forearm and he spun around to find Cythera behind him, stopping him from killing the little monster. She slapped him across the face, very hard.

The rage inside him threatened to boil over. His vision went red and he growled, literally growled, in the desire to attack, to kill.

“Malden,” Cythera said, “I understand.”

His rage hit a brick wall. He was so surprised he couldn’t move.

“I understand how you’re feeling right now. Believe me, I do. But if you harm her, then you’ll be throwing your life away. And you won’t help Slag at all.”

“But-she’s so… she’s-”

“She is within her rights, as far as the law is concerned. And you aren’t. I know you break laws all the time. But only because you expect something out of it. This won’t achieve anything.”

“No, please, don’t listen to her,” Balint laughed. “Come on, boy. Try to hit me with that great big whanger of yours. I dare you!”

Malden stared at her. The fury was still inside of him, but instead of howling for blood now it was like a torrent of water penned up like a dam. He would not give Balint what she wanted. “I won’t forget this,” he said.

“No man forgets meeting me,” Balint assured him.

“I assure you, that-” Malden began, but he stopped in mid-sentence. Outside the door of the Hall of Masterpieces, he could hear the sound of hammers striking metal. That, and a lot of cursing. Something was up. “What are they doing out there?” he demanded.

“My men? They’re simply buying some time. I’m going to walk out that door in a minute. I’m not exactly wet in the trousers to have you follow me.”

She yanked on her blueling’s leash again and it climbed up her arm. Dancing along like a monkey, it wrapped itself around her shoulders and closed its eyes. In a moment it was asleep. “You know, Urin, I should drag your dog-hearted arse right out of here, right now, and let you die in the foundry out there. You’ve got no right to sully this place-this hall-with your debasing presence. But in a way, I suppose it’s appropriate you’ll die right here. Aye, it’s got some fucking poetry to it, don’t it? Surrounded by all the emblems of what you betrayed. In the place you nearly betrayed again.”