Mith Barak stepped forward and raised his hands as the couple came together. A roar erupted from the crowd, and Ingara raised the war axe above her head for all to see. Red light glowed from deep within the carved runes on the axe, a ruby flame like the heart of the forge.
“The heart of the dwarf people,” Icelin murmured.
“What did you say?” Sitting slightly behind her, Ruen leaned over Icelin’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around her waist.
“The war axe, the armor-there’s so much more here than a wedding,” Icelin said.
“They know what’s at stake,” Ruen said.
Arngam stepped forward, and Ingara held out the axe to the king. Mith Barak took it and held the blade upright. Ingara lifted her hand to the axe and pressed her finger against the naked blade. They were too far away to see the blood that welled up from the wound, and Ingara’s gaze never left Arngam’s as she raised her finger to her lips. Arngam stepped forward and opened his own wound on the blade, brought it to his lips, then stepped forward and took Ingara’s hand.
The king spoke then for the first time.
“I stand as witness to this union between Ingara Blackhorn and Arngam of the Gallowglar clan. His shield is hers, and her blade strengthens him. May weapon and shield never be sundered. May their family thrive, and may Moradin’s blessings be upon them.”
Blood from their wounds on their lips, Ingara and Arngam kissed. Before they parted, the axe passed from Ingara’s hands to her husband’s, and he raised it above their heads, shaking it in triumph. The crowd erupted in cheers and raucous shouts.
Ruen’s arms tightened around her, and Icelin leaned back against him. Tears blurred her vision as Ingara embraced her husband again and planted another kiss on the blonde dwarf’s lips. The cavernous, lonely city filled with the sounds of joy and new beginnings, and for that instant, Iltkazar was full of life and vigor. Time pealed back, and Icelin imagined the city as it was at the height of its glory.
Did the dwarves feel it too? Did it give them hope? Icelin’s gaze strayed across the plaza, seeking the king. In this moment, more than any other, he had the chance to rally his people for the battle ahead.
He was gone. Sometime between the king’s declaration and the kiss, Mith Barak must have slipped away. Neither the crowd, nor Ingara and Arngam seemed to notice his absence. Icelin sought Joya in the crowd and found her standing beside Garn. Even from this distance, Icelin saw their troubled expressions.
“The king’s gone,” Icelin said, unsure if Ruen heard her over the crowd noise.
“I saw him heading for the hall,” Ruen said into Icelin’s ear, disapproval in his voice.
“Or the library,” Icelin said, “back to Zollgarza.”
“There’s Sull,” Ruen said, pointing to a table at the base of the dais, where the butcher directed several dwarves carrying platters of food. The wedding feast was about to begin.
Once the drinking and merriment started, the dwarves weren’t likely to notice the king’s absence. It was clear they wanted to celebrate while they could.
“Try to get Sull’s attention,” Icelin said, sliding toward the edge of the ledge.
“Where are we going?” Ruen asked, holding out a hand to steady her.
“To see the king,” Icelin explained. She cast another spell and waited for the levitation to take hold of them. “I’ve seen the damage obsession can do-in that drow prisoner and in us. No race is immune to its grip. Mith Barak can’t afford to be distracted now. Many of his people are going to die. He has to be there for them now, more than ever.”
“It’s likely he won’t listen,” Ruen cautioned her. “If he’s not able to speak to his own people, he won’t let outsiders into his confidence.”
They drifted to the ground. Ruen signaled to Sull, but the butcher had already seen them and was weaving his way through the crowd.
“Wondered where the two of you had gotten to,” Sull said, his face flushed and his apron stained with food. “You’d better get some food quick before it’s all-”
His eyes widened. Icelin looked down at her hand clasped in Ruen’s, with no gloves or other barriers between them. Already it had become so natural, so much a part of her that she hadn’t realized the effect it would have on Sull. The butcher stood before them positively glowing.
“We’re on our way to see the king,” Icelin said. “Will you come with us?”
“Sure, sure,” Sull said, a wide grin stretching across his face. “My job’s mostly done anyway.” He fidgeted, scrubbing a hand through his hair, as if he were about to burst. “You two … I mean, have you … you have, haven’t you, you-?”
“I think our butcher might be delirious,” Icelin said serenely, raising herself on tiptoe to kiss Sull’s cheek.
“Must be the forge smoke,” Ruen agreed, slapping Sull on the arm. “Gets to all of us after a while.”
“Forge smoke! Idiots, the both of you-well, it’s about time!” Sull cried happily, sweeping them both into his arms in a crushing hug. “We’re family now. Nothin’s goin’ to change that.”
“Unless you suffocate us,” Icelin groaned. When Sull released her, she straightened her shirt. “Got that out of your system now?”
Sull was practically bouncing. “We’ve just had one weddin’, and here right off we’ll have another-”
“Hold on,” Icelin said. She raised both hands to rein in the butcher’s enthusiasm. “We haven’t talked about any of that yet, and in case you’ve forgotten, we’re far from home, we’ve a drow invasion looming over us, and a dwarf king who’s lost his head to deal with. You know, small details like that.”
“No, Sull’s right,” Ruen said unexpectedly. He stared out at the plaza and the revelers. Ingara and Arngam were on the dais, dancing while a trio of dwarf musicians played songhorns for them. “This is the time-the place doesn’t matter.” He drew his dagger. Icelin realized what he intended to do just a breath before he pricked his index finger with the point. Blood welled, and he touched it to his lips.
Icelin’s heart filled. She reached out to take the dagger. She pricked her finger on the blade and touched the blood to her lips.
“Will you stand as witness?” Ruen asked Sull.
Tears welled in the butcher’s eyes. “You know I will.”
“As will I,” said a familiar voice from the crowd, though Icelin was used to hearing it speak only Dwarvish.
She turned, only then realizing that several dwarves among the revelers had seen her and Ruen’s exchange and had gathered silently to watch. Obrin stepped from among them, with Joya and Garn trailing behind.
“I witness this union on behalf of the Blackhorn family,” Garn said. Obrin drew his axe, holding it in his hands so that the obsidian horns shone in the torchlight.
“I bless this union in the name of Mystra, Haela Brightaxe, and Moradin,” Joya said in her sweet voice.
“I speak with the voice of Icelin’s mother and father, and her great-uncle, to approve this union,” Sull said formally. He used his thumb to wipe a tear from Icelin’s cheek. Then he turned a stern gaze on Ruen and added, “And I’ll speak with my fists and my mallet if you hurt her.”
Approving chuckles passed among the dwarves. Ruen did not laugh, but bowed respectfully to the butcher. Joya stepped forward and took Icelin and Ruen’s hands. She pressed them together. “By stone and flesh are you bound before these witnesses. Be now bound by blood and heart, for as long as you live.”
Heart pounding, Icelin wrapped her arms around Ruen’s neck. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, their blood mingling in the dwarf tradition.
What a tale all this would make, Icelin thought fleetingly. Then Ruen deepened the kiss, and she thought of nothing at all for the next several breaths.
When they broke apart, Ruen still held her close, and Icelin saw his muddy red eyes gleaming with unshed tears. She started to make a jest about this being a truly momentous occasion, but she stopped. Instead, she stood on her toes and kissed the corners of his eyes, smiling at him.