“Well, I’d guess by Hrun’s appearance, she didn’t follow through on any of those threats,” Sabira commented.
“It would seem not.”
The conversation lulled after that, with Rockfist diligently scribbling his own comments on top of Blackiron’s notes and Aggar surreptitiously tugging on various beads and braids in his beard. No doubt getting some inside information from Kiruk, who sat across from them on the Tordannon seat and had likewise developed a number of inexplicable facial itches and tics. Their movements were too quick and subtle for Sabira to follow, so she contented herself with a brief, nonspecific prayer of gratitude that Aggar’s scratching was due to his wordless conversation with his father and not his long, unwashed wait to address the Council. Though she supposed she ought to be thanking Rockfist as well, since it was his talisman that had removed Aggar’s objectionable odor—an old trick of Blackiron’s, since juries tended to look more favorably on defendants they couldn’t actually smell.
Sabira quickly grew bored with listening to Hrun Noldrun’s long catalog of ancestors, so she spent the rest of her time observing the members of the Iron Council, trying to get a read on whether or not they would accept this new claimant to Noldrunthrone. Kiruk was too busy feeding information to his son to pay more than cursory attention to Hrun’s litany, but Sabira doubted his opinion would be any different this time than last—without irrefutable proof, he wasn’t going to vote to open up a hold that might ultimately challenge his clan’s supremacy in the south. Soldorak and Toldorath would no doubt vote against the self-proclaimed Noldrun as well, and for the same reasons. Narathun would probably vote for accepting Hrun’s claim, partly because the reopening of Noldrunhold would have no economic impact on her clan and partly because both Tordannon and Toldorath would vote against it. Droranath hated Tordannon, Toldorath, and Narathun equally, so it was anyone’s guess which way he would vote. He was probably one of the few who’d actually base his decision on the merits of Hrun’s claims and not on old clan alliances and hostilities.
Soranath and Soldorak most often voted together on the Council, and since Torlan Mroranon was likely to support the claim and clans Soranath and Mroranon had feuded since ancient times, Sabira felt sure the clean-shaven dwarf would vote against Noldrun. Laranak and Londurak were too intent on their own personal war to pay much attention to how the other clans voted, but if one voted to accept Hrun’s claim, the other would surely vote against it, effectively canceling out each other’s choices. Doldarun kept his own counsel, as did Kolkarun, but there was recent bad blood between the two, so it was a fair bet that if one accepted the new Noldrun, the other would reject him out of spite. Since clan Kundarak had no voice on the Council, that meant that the outcome of the vote was most likely already determined, and had been before Hrun ever began speaking. It would be six to five against.
Sabira could only hope that same breakdown of votes would hold true when it came time to hear Aggar’s case, but even ancient clan rivalries might dissolve in the face of a murdered priest.
Finally, an indeterminate amount of time later, Hrun finished recounting his genealogy.
“… who, in the heart of the Endworld Mountains, begat Chamette Steepslope, who was my mother.”
Sabira had never heard of many of the families mentioned, but from what she’d gathered by intermittently listening to Hrun’s litany, a small group of Noldruns had escaped the still-unnamed cataclysm that destroyed the clan four hundred years ago by fleeing south through the depths of Khyber and resettling in the mountain chain just north of Q’barra. They’d intermarried with the dwarves already living there, who were themselves the descendants of criminals and outcasts long-exiled from the Holds.
“Thank you, Hrun,” Torlan said from his throne. He then turned to look at the seated priestess, who stood to address him.
“He speaks the truth as he understands it, my Lord.”
“Very good. Our thanks, Jhuddona.”
As the priestess inclined her head to him, the arbiter surveyed the other members of the Council.
“Does anyone have any additional questions for Hrun?”
“I do.” It was Kiruk, who’d apparently been paying closer attention to the Noldrun’s recitation than Sabira had at first thought.
“The Council recognizes Kiruk Tordannon,” Torlan replied, nodding at the other dwarf.
Kiruk stood and addressed Hrun.
“You’ve mentioned several families unfamiliar to us in your lineage, which we must assume are not affiliated with any Mrorian clan—the Steepslopes, the Firewrights, the Coldforges, and a handful of others. While breaking from your family and clan to start anew is not unheard of, you’ve listed far too many for that to be the explanation in every case. So that begs the question: If they’re not Mrorian, what are they?”
Sabira wasn’t at all surprised to hear Kiruk use the word “what,” and not “who”—to a Mrorian, any dwarf who wasn’t from the Holds was, almost by definition, something lesser.
“And you are familiar with every family in the Holds?” Hrun asked, his mild tone doing little to temper the impertinence of the question.
Even from where she sat, Sabira could see Kiruk’s green eyes narrow. “I know every family ever associated with my clan, now and in all of our illustrious past,” the councilor said coldly, “as I’m sure my colleagues do, also. If we haven’t heard of them, they’re not Mrorian.” He looked to his fellow Council members for support.
“Actually, I believe the Coldforges may once have been related to our clan,” Viggo Laranak offered after a moment, casting a dark glance at his counterpart from the hated Londurak clan. “The whole family was exiled from our hold after their matriarch, Yelen, entered into a forbidden marriage with a Londurak.”
“As were the Steepslopes, from our hold, for Roddri’s indiscretion,” Londurak replied, returning Viggo’s look, glare for glare.
Another perfect example of why dwarven matrimony was usually contracted—marrying for love could be the downfall not only of the individual couple but also of both of their entire families.
“Which leaves the Firewrights, and four others, who are not from the Holds,” Kiruk continued, turning his sharp gaze back to Hrun. “Are they duergar? Are you? You’ve got those black eyes, after all. Have you come here before us to claim the throne of Noldrunhold with the blood of the gray dwarves tainting your veins?”
As soon as Aggar had mentioned that Eddarga had had black eyes, Sabira had wondered how long it would take Kiruk to bring up the fact that Hrun shared that same eye color. Personally, she thought it was a bit of a stretch. Though rare, dwarves with black eyes were no more uncommon than humans with green eyes. Even Gunnett had them, and if Kiruk tried to suggest the Stonebloods—a family affiliated with his closest allied clan, the Toldoraths—were part duergar, he would get laughed off the Council.