“No,” interrupted Ginsgar. “We’ll have no humans in our mountains. We are carrying out our duties properly on our own. Humans would get in the way. They understand neither our way of life nor our way of thinking and fighting. If there were an attack our soldiers would be hindered by them, not helped.”
“ You have no kingdom under you,” Xamtys corrected him. “You have appointed yourself high king, that’s all.” She inclined her head toward Mallen. “As for the firstlings, let me say that humans are welcome to join their efforts to our own. We have suffered too many losses recently and would be grateful for more soldiers to help fill the gaps in our ranks, until our own new recruits are trained up.”
Bylanta and Balendilin agreed with her, but Glaimbar and Malbalor refused to cooperate. From the looks exchanged between Ginsgar and Xamtys it seemed the dwarven folks were headed for a massive clash of wills about who should have overall power. Never had their enmity been displayed so openly. In the past they had given outsiders the impression of unity or had formed a common front of silence when disputes occurred.
Mallen expressed his thanks. “Let us discuss numbers tomorrow: how many soldiers the firstlings, secondlings and fourthlings will take.”
The council now moved to the topic of what line to take with the ubariu and the mighty empire in the northeast of the Outer Lands. Against Ginsgar’s will-unsurprisingly-it was decided to invite initial contact, if for no other reason than to tackle the kordrion. The monarchs resolved to leave it in the lap of the gods as to how the relationship developed after that.
As it was already late Bruron closed the meeting. The potentates of Girdlegard were to reconvene in the morning. The kings and queens of the human realms left the hall and the dwarves remained behind to continue negotiations.
Immediately Xamtys slammed her fist down on the table and hissed accusingly at Ginsgar, “How can you dare to appear here as high king?”
“The matter is settled,” he snorted, dismissing her with a smile and gesture.
“You think it is settled. You have a handful of followers, Ginsgar, and they swore loyalty to you when they were high on battle victory. Not more than that.”
“Not in my view.” Glaimbar spoke. “Ginsgar did what we should have done. Elves or atar, what’s the difference? When the next eoil turns up, the thirty-seven pointy-ears will go mad and try to found another empire of purity. We’re better off without the elves.” He pushed back his chair and knelt before Ginsgar, proffering his weapon. He bowed his head. “I acknowledge you as my high king, Ginsgar Unforce.”
Malbalor also rose and dropped to one knee, repeating the ceremony.
Xamtys jumped up. “So much hot-headed madness from my own realm is insufferable!” She looked at Glaimbar. “I can’t think why you are supporting him.” Then she turned her eyes to Malbalor. “You are afraid of losing authority because you are a thirdling. You think you’ll hang on to power and your people will be left in peace if you join the dwarf who calls freelings and thirdlings his enemies.” Her eyes narrowed. “You are both wrong. You have split the dwarf folks with your decision. I will never accept Ginsgar as high king.” She stood up and knelt before Bylanta, to be joined by Balendilin. “We swear allegiance to you, High Queen Bylanta Slimfinger of the clan of the Silver Beards,” they chorused.
Then the freeling city representatives, Bramdal amongst their number, rose and stood at the side of the fourthling queen. They swore no oath but made their commitment plain.
Ginsgar jerked to his feet. “By Vraccas! Rebellion!” he bellowed, reaching for his battle hammer. Malbalor and Glaimbar stood stock still. “And you,” he shouted at the freelings, “I’ll have you back with the dwarves as Vraccas decreed. Your realms outside Girdlegard have seen their last days.”
Bramdal gave him a contemptuous look.
“You and your two friends will be responsible for what happens,” said Bylanta somberly. “We can prevent the feud,” she insisted to Malbalor and Glaimbar, “if you give me your oath of fealty! Avert this rift!”
“They have acknowledged me as their ruler,” thundered Ginsgar. “And I shall not rest until I am high king of all the dwarven folks. It is your fault! You are the traitors for not supporting my claim.”
Bylanta drew back. “It is better if we leave,” she said to the dwarves under her banner. “I pray that Vraccas may instill some sense in you, Ginsgar Unforce.”
“That he has done, as my deeds testify.” He laughed scornfully as they left the hall. “We shall force them to swear allegiance,” he told the two kings, laying his hands on their shoulders. “You will not regret having supported me.” He indicated they should rise.
“I hope you are right.” Glaimbar was on his feet. “They’ll soon understand that what you have done was the only solution for Alandur.” He lowered his voice. “It’s just you stopped too soon, high king.”
Ginsgar laughed cruelly and ran his hand over his fire-red beard. “Plenty of time…” he hinted with mirth. “Let us drink to my confirmation as high king.”
Malbalor thanked him but gave his excuses. “I am too tired, Your Majesty. I should be but poor company and I am not in the mood to celebrate a victory that is nothing of the kind.”
“Make no mistake, Malbalor. It will be a great victory and we shan’t have to wait long.” He gave him a friendly tap on the chest. “And then we shall drink together.”
“Yes. Then we shall,” he responded weakly, taking his cup of water as Glaimbar and Ginsgar led the way.
Malbalor was not happy with this stirring of unrest. Xamtys had seen through his motives immediately. As king of the thirdlings, in joining forces with Ginsgar, he felt he would be gaining security for himself and his folk. He must use the intervening time to prepare for Ginsgar’s endeavors.
If leaders did not soon become more clear-sighted, the feud about the high king’s title would end in internecine strife. It would be the first time dwarves fought each other without the thirdlings being the cause, as had been the case under Lorimbas.
A hazy suspicion rose in his mind. “Vraccas, give us reason or give us Ginsgar’s defeat,” he murmured, downing the contents of his cup. “Save your children.”
Girdlegard,
Gray Mountains,
Realm of the Fifthlings,
Winter, 6241st Solar Cycle
B alyndis was seated in the throne room surrounded by the old fifthling grandeur, and the new fifthling magnificence. She interrupted the talks with the clan elders and opened the letter she had just been handed.
It was from Rodario and contained many pages detailing recent events and in particular how Tungdil had met his end. Even if no one could say with certainty that he had died, the descriptions of the monsters in the Black Abyss made it impossible that he could have survived.
“Dead,” she mouthed. Tears sprang to her eyes, and the words on the paper became illegible through the mist.
“Queen Balyndis,” one of the dwarves prompted cautiously. “What has happened? Is King Glaimbar not well?”
“No. No, he is fine.” She forced herself to smile, although her heart was mourning the dwarf she was once linked to with the iron band. She had released him from their union, aware that his soul was restless. It had changed nothing in her feelings toward him.
She had returned to Glaimbar’s side more or less by default. She had not wanted to go back to her firstling clan and certainly had not wanted to go to the freelings. Glaimbar’s invitation had reached her at a time when few other options were open. He had accepted her back as his spouse without a word about the past; and for this she truly loved him. It was a different love from the one she had for Tungdil. And would always have.