An hour later he had nursed his third ale down to the bottom of the mug, and he still had no answers. He wanted to believe that Arbuckle’s motives were innocent, but at the same time he knew he had been duped. The council was plotting against its own citizens.
Bradok turned on his stool, surveying the tavern, as if answers could be found in the hardened faces of the dwarves around him. The bar stood against the back wall of the room and was stained black and pitted with years of hard use. Oft-repaired stools stood in front of the bar in a ragged row, occupied by a bunch of patrons. In the middle of the great room sat a stone hearth over which a metal shroud and flue hung. A fire crackled cheerily, spreading a dry warmth through the cool, humid air and filling the room with the scent of burning pine.
Bradok had taken the stool at the far end, by the kitchen. A barmaid with a face as haggard as the bar leaned on her arms, attempting to draw the men’s eyes away from her face by exposing ample amounts of cleavage. All of the dwarves at the bar were drinking with abandon, so none of them noticed anyway.
Bradok finished his cup and pounded on the bar. The pitted-faced barmaid brought him another drink efficiently enough, but with a disinterest bordering on disdain. Bradok took a swig, but he had drunk his fill; the liquid soured in his mouth. He pushed the cup aside and stared at the fire.
Next to Bradok sat a mountain of a dwarf. Seated on his stool, the red-bearded dwarf was easily a head taller than Bradok. He’d been pounding back ale and muttering darkly to himself since before Bradok arrived, and still he showed no sign of slowing. The dwarf wore a thick leather apron of the kind smiths wore, but his clothes and boots were far too fine for such a profession. As soon as he noticed Bradok had paused in his drinking, the big dwarf slammed his mug down, sending its contents launching out of the mug and splashing on the bar.
“What’s the matter with you?” he demanded testily. “You look like a dwarf, but you sure don’t drink like one.”
Bradok sat up as if he’d been struck by lightning. Glaring at the red-bearded dwarf, he raised his tankard and drained it in one gulp.
“No one ever accused me of being a teetotaler,” he said with a growl, slamming his mug down on the bar. “Now leave me alone.”
He turned back to the bar, but the red-bearded dwarf would not be dismissed so easily. With a roar of laughter, he pounded Bradok on the back so hard that the stool beneath him cracked ominously.
“I like you!” the fellow said. “You’re different than most of the rest. You’re not afraid to say it like it is.”
“Yes, I am,” Bradok said in a low voice he intended only for himself.
“So you didn’t tell off those crooks on the city council,” the dwarf said matter-of-factly. “That’s all right by me. Being prudent with your tongue doesn’t make you a coward.”
“How did you know that?” Bradok demanded, seizing the big dwarf by the arm.
“That’s nothing.” Red-beard shrugged. “You’re that new councilman from the upper city. It stands to reason you wouldn’t want to say more than is prudent on your first day.”
Bradok narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “That’s not what you said. You said something about … me disagreeing with the council,” he finished. He scratched his head. What had the red-bearded dwarf said? He wasn’t sure. His head was clouded with drink.
The big dwarf grinned sympathetically at him. “You’ve got an honest face,” he said. “It’s the kind of face you only get from hard work and fair value. I can respect a face like that.”
Bradok couldn’t hold the penetrating gaze of the red-bearded dwarf’s crystal blue eyes. The dwarf’s eyes seemed to look into the very depths of his soul, and Bradok turned away before they found the thing that all the ale in the bar couldn’t drown.
“I’m not worthy of anyone’s respect,” Bradok mumbled, motioning to the barmaid for a fresh mug.
“Why is that?”
Bradok frowned. Why, indeed? Because what he suspected about Arbuckle and Bladehook made Bradok shudder just to think of it. He no longer doubted that the lists he had been innocently drawing up for the council were intended for some kind of drastic action against the believers. Bradok himself didn’t care a whit for the believers, but it just wasn’t, well-dwarflike.
“Are you a believer?” Bradok suddenly asked the big dwarf, daring to look into those probing eyes for a moment.
The big dwarf laughed. “My name is Erus,” he said, raising his mug to Bradok. “And you might say I’m the ultimate believer.”
“Then I suggest you leave Ironroot while you can,” Bradok said glumly, staring into his mug. “Take anyone you love and get out.”
If Bradok’s warning fazed the big dwarf, he gave no sign.
“So you think that anti-preaching law was just the beginning?” the red-bearded dwarf said in a conspiratorial tone. “That there’s more to come?”
“Something like that,” Bradok said.
“What about you? Are you a believer?” Erus asked.
The question almost made Bradok laugh. Then, all of a sudden, he felt like weeping, which was all the more surprising.
“I don’t know what I am,” he said finally. “I’m not sure what I believe.”
“That’s gutless,” Erus declared, taking another drink.
Bradok looked up at the dwarf sharply, intending to protest, even to challenge him to a fight, but the dwarf’s accusing gaze froze the words in his throat. The dwarf’s eyes appraised him for a long time, their depths hard and flat. Bradok wanted to glance away, to look anywhere else, but those eyes held him fast, as surely as a vice. Then Erus blinked and looked away, accepting the fresh tankard the barmaid had mechanically brought him.
“Let me tell you something, Bradok,” he said, taking the fresh drink and tackling it with gusto. “There comes a time in everyone’s life when they have to make a choice. When that happens, you can’t stay on the sidelines; you have to enter the fray.”
“There! You’ve done it again. How do you know so much about me? How do you know my name?” Bradok asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Erus said, setting his cup on the bar and leaning closer to Bradok. “When the time comes that you are forced to choose which side you’re going to be on, I think it would be a good idea if you found out just what you did believe.” Erus reached into the front pocket of his apron and pulled out a steel coin, which he spun on the bar. “Because it’s much easier to make the right choice when you know what your beliefs really are.”
“Easy for you to say,” Bradok said, genuinely confused.
Erus smiled. It was a warm, sincere, friendly look, full of compassion. “Right you are,” he said, taking a small cloth-wrapped bundle from his apron. “Here,” he said, holding it out to Bradok.
Bradok took the bundle hesitantly. From its size and shape, it might have been a pocket watch.
“Take this to the Artisans’ Cavern,” Erus said solemnly with the hint of a wink. “There you will find the shop of Silas, the cooper. You might also find some of the answers you seek.”
He got up off his stool and slung an enormous warhammer over his shoulder. “Be warned, though,” he added. “The time to choose sides is almost upon you. Don’t take too long to make up your mind.”
With that Erus turned and strode to the door, exiting into the dimly lit tunnels without so much as a backward glance.
Bradok scrambled to dig a few silver pieces from his coin purse before he raced to the door and out into the street. The narrow tunnel ran straight to either side for several hundred yards, but Erus was nowhere to be seen. Despate the dwarf’s formidable size, he seemed to have completely vanished.
Bradok opened his hand, looking at the wrapped bundle. A soft linen cloth covered the object, held in place by a length of twine that had been tied on top. He took hold of the loose end of the twine and hesitated. A strange sense of foreboding swept over him, causing a chill to run up his spine. He couldn’t help feeling that he had been handed a piece of some great and terrible destiny, and he wondered if he dared accept his fate.