The smith reached out one burly hand and shoved Bradok hard. Bradok had seen it coming, but the force of the smith’s arm was not to be resisted and he staggered back.
“You tell them that, from me,” he said, pounding his chest, “Kellik Felhammer.”
Bradok recognized the name. Though he’d never met the dwarf, he bought all the brass he used for jewelry from the Felhammer Smithy.
“I’ll tell them,” he promised then turned and grimly climbed the steps up to the gates of city hall. The guards on the steps parted as he passed then closed ranks behind him.
Inside the building, scribes and clerks were running everywhere, carrying sheaves of paper and rolls of parchment. Discarded notes and what appeared to be pages torn from books littered the hallways. At every intersection, two city guardsmen stood with javelins in hand, their eyes watching for any menace.
At the corner of the main hall, Bradok turned to the back hallway reserved for councilmen.
“There you are, lad.” Much’s voice slammed into him with a near physical force. Rough hands grabbed him and pulled him along the corridor. “When I couldn’t find you at the tavern, I feared for you, boy, and that’s a fact.”
Much paused, straightening Bradok’s coat and brushing bits of dust from the rich fabric.
“Things have gone a bit ‘round the bend here,” he said with a nervous laugh. “How about that Arbuckle? He used that list of believers you made to round up what he’s calling ‘religious troublemakers.’”
“How dare he!” Bradok responded, though he was hardly shocked to have his suspicions confirmed.
“Oh, he dares, he dares,” said Much, all too lightly for Bradok’s taste.
“How does he think he’ll get away with it?” Bradok demanded.
“Well, that’s why he’s doing it all at once, tonight,” Much explained. “If they’re all in jail by morning, he can tell the people it’s all over. Only a few will protest at that point.”
Bradok thought of the mob out front. “There’s more than a few gathering outside already,” he said.
“You don’t understand the kind of power he wields,” Much said, looking around to make sure they weren’t overheard. “Most of the council is with him-”
“Are you with him?” Bradok said, seizing Much’s arm in a vicelike grip.
“Don’t be getting ideas,” Much said, a deadly serious note in his voice. “The peace of Ironroot stands on a blade’s edge, and anything could set it off. Just keep your head down in there. You can try to rein in some of the more enthusiastic members of the council, but don’t make a target out of yourself. If they think you’re against them, they’ll turn on you like a pack of wild dogs.”
Bradok wanted to protest, but something in his gut told him Much had the right of it. He’d have to just bide his time until he could figure out how to tamp it down and help Silas. Much led him around the outer walkway to where their tables stood side by side.
The council chamber was in an uproar. All around the room, councilmen were yelling to be heard while Mayor Arbuckle pounded his gavel on the lectern for order. In the galleries above, a few citizens who had political pull and others who had eluded the curfew filled the seats. They shouted to one another and to the councilmen below, some of them leaning precariously over the carved railings in an effort to have their opinions heard. In the center of the chamber, a lone dwarf stood, silent and unbent against the cacophony.
With a shock, Bradok recognized him. It was Argus Deephammer.
“Silence, I say!” Arbuckle shouted several times before, finally, the voices in the chamber died away. “You’ve been charged with disturbing the peace,” he addressed Argus Deephammer. “Your fearmongering and slander against this council are directly responsible for rioting in the streets. Do you deny it?”
“I do,” the dwarf said with stubborn fierceness. “Don’t you see what’s going on around you? You’re losing control of everything. Reorx has abandoned you and left you to your own devices. Now you see that you cannot stand without the aid of your god. You must repent for your godless ways, or we are all lost.”
“I’ll not tolerate such rock-headed idiocy,” Arbuckle roared, slamming the gavel down for emphasis. “The gullible people of this city have been whipped up into a religious mania by you and others like you. You are an agitator and a public menace, and I’ll not have anyone running around loose in the streets inciting violence.” He pounded the gavel down again.
“It is the order of this council that you be bound in Dark-lock Prison until such time that you come to your senses and deny your contentious religious fantasies. I don’t care if you stay there till the mountains fall.”
“Then I won’t be there long,” Argus spat. “You have only a little time left to you, Arbuckle; then you and all those who deny the gods will suffer their wrath.”
“Don’t tout your adolescent fantasies here,” Bladehook piped up. “We have taken your confederates. Soon there won’t be anyone making trouble in Ironroot so you can blame it on nonexistent gods.”
“I have no confederates,” Argus shot back.
“Don’t deny it,” Bladehook said, his face contorting into a mask of hate. “We know about your minions running around the streets with signs and folks like your friend the cooper, who’s building a crazy boat in the Artisans’ Cavern.”
At this a rumble of laughter ran throughout the chamber. Bradok was watching Argus’s face, and he could have sworn he saw a smile flit across the dwarf’s face.
“Ah, at least someone is listening,” Argus said softly. “The cooper is wiser than I.”
“Don’t praise him too much,” Bladehook said with a sneer. “As soon as we’ve dealt with you, I’m ordering that abomination burned.”
A murmur of agreement ran around the council chamber, and two guardsmen came forward and led the dwarf out.
CHAPTER 6
After Argus had been escorted out, Arbuckle ordered the gallery cleared and the doors shut.
“We have before us a desperate situation,” he proclaimed to the assembled council. “These religious zealots are driving a wedge through our community. They refuse to see that their fathers and grandfathers were fooled, taken in by the so-called priests. They stubbornly cling to the old ways, ways that were put in place to keep us under the thumb of the church.”
Angry mutters rose from the council.
“Brothers,” Arbuckle said, standing up behind the lectern and striking what he clearly thought was a majestic pose. “We are at a crossroads. We must decide, here, now, tonight, what the fate of Ironroot will be.”
“What do you mean, Arbuckle?” a dwarf with a bushy beard asked with a puzzled expression. “I thought you have always said to be patient, to wait for the old beliefs to simply die out.”
“There is not time for that anymore,” Jon Bladehook scoffed, standing up at his table. “These zealots, these street preachers, they’re all in league. Isn’t it interesting how they all have the same message, how they all say the same words? I tell you, they’ve long been conspiring against us, against Ironroot itself!”
Several dwarves cheered.
“Friends,” Bladehook yelled, holding up his hand for quiet. “Councilmen, I have learned the very day when the believers plan to move against us. It is in one week’s time. According to my source, the street preachers say that exactly one week from today, the gods will pour out their wrath on Ironroot. That will be the day of big trouble for us or them. It’s our choice.”
Choice, thought Bradok.
“Preposterous,” someone called.
“Of course, you and I both know that no such thing can happen,” Bladehook said. “There are no gods to anger in the first place.”
“Then why don’t we just wait?” the scruffy-bearded dwarf asked. “When nothing happens in a week, we can show these fakers for what they are. That’ll be the end of the believers.”