One Moo'r Plow - Book 2: Chapter 32: Wrath II.

The air hung silent for a moment after Velton’s declaration.

If the threat of annihilation by a source that could and would carry it out bothered these iron-clad beings any, it did not show. Not physically, not even so much as a change in their scent.

“Elf.” The steel-beard figure remarked from where he sat rigid. Wether it was a greeting or a simple remark, I could not tell.

“Dwarf.” The bearded mage returned, eyes narrow. He looked.. disheveled. Dark circles under his eyes, clothes dirty. Still imposing through it all.

“Your spawn is being questioned. Do not interfere.”

With every word the being spoke, my dread rose higher. Who was he, to command an elf like this?

“Unhand her, or I will obliterate all of you.” Came the reply, deathly serious.

“You will.” The figure agreed. “And then you will have killed a dwarf. Your name will be writ in the great Book of grudges. And then the legions will come in their millions, burrowing under your cities and sunking them into the dirt. The blood of thousands will whet every patch of this accursed land. Your lineage will be erased. I will be dead, and your kind will learn once more why you do not harm dwarves.”

The threat of complete, brutal devastation was delivered with the most measured tone I could imagine under such a situation.

“And then you will have killed an elf.” Velton countered. “Consider carefully what happened the last time a dwarf dared that.”

“I will be dead, resting in the halls of my forefathers, unconcerned by the woes of the mortal world. My duty fulfilled, my honor upheld. What happens once I pass concerns me not.”

Two ultimatums were given, and neither was willing to back down.

Was this going to be it? The focal point, the singular moment in which everything irrevocably was cast to ruin?

‘She is innocent of anything concerning this dwarf’s fate.” The words slipped my mouth, directed at both of them. “Simply allow her to prove it, Velton.”

“She might have went into the dungeon with his party, but she didn’t leave with him. Others can attest to that.” My stomach roiled and sweat trickled down my back. My mind raced as I did my best to obfuscate any detail I could surrounding that day. Anything to put Ishila on the right track with what she had to say.

“Didn’t leave the dungeon for quite some time, in fact.” I continued. “Dwarf was long gone by the time her barely-functioning body was brought back here.”

“Confirm this.” The dwarf demanded, his aura coming down in full effect.

Ishila nodded and repeated the words. If he had some way to sense the truth, the dwarf did not find her statement wanting.

Just like that, they were done. The figure rose and spoke several commands in a guttural language I could not recognize. Weapons were lowered and people unherded as the columns turned and began to march back the way they had come.

“Hold, Oracle.” Velton commanded.

The figure stopped, looking back at the elf, surprised by the sheer absurdity of benign ordered to do something. I reckoned these were two beings very much used to being the highest authority of any room they were in, and now their wills grappled with each other.

Another guttural command and the lines of warriors stopped their march. They remained in place as the metallic figure turned and paced back towards where Velton stood.

“Speak, elf.”

“Who is this dwarf, that you are so hell-bent on seeking wrath for him? Some Deep-Hall clan-son?”

“Who he was or his station matters little to me. He was the disgraced son of a miner, banished to the upper world until he proved to be worthy enough to walk the under-deep once more.”

“Some nobody?” Velton spoke in the bluntest way possible. “That is why you are in the Lands Above?”

“He was a dwarf, and that alone is enough.”

“Gods Above.” Velton exclaimed. “Go. Ive no more questions for you.”

“And mine have only started.”

With that, he turned and strode away, stubby legs carrying him on measured strides.

“Back to the work.” I commanded once the gates were shut. Pent up dislike and anger oozed from me, I knew. It faded somewhat now that they were gone from my sight, but the smallest flicker of hatred was still nurtured within.

Twas proof how resilient the people of this world were that they went about their chores and business without much ado. I still did not fully grasp why it surprised me, given the danger that lurked in every corner on this world, but such nonchalant in the face of near-death continued to surprise me. They simply got over it and moved about their day.

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I did not. Could not.

“Where in all the bloody Hells did they come from?” I growled to Velton once the workers had dispersed.

“The ground, I reckon.”

If he made this a jest, not a whif of humor flared in his scent.

“They tunnels all across this world, garek. Routes to every city in every kingdom, at the very least. Likely more than we could every dream of. They march beneath borders, caring little for how squabbles on top. Under the soil, all is theirs. All boots march to the drums of the Exarch and his will. They have dug so deep that the hells themselves have been breached, and even the devils within leave the dwarves unbothered.”

“And you were ready to start a war with that. Over me.” Ishila’s voice was filled with emotion.

“For my daughter, I would make this world a pyre before I let death take you.”

Not a shadow of doubt could be found in the elf’s voice. What he said, he believed with thorough conviction.

I had questions. Given how the dwarves had seen fit to do all the asking and none of the answerings, there was a veritable heap to be handed out.

“Who, no, what was that?”

“An Ironbeard Orcle. Dwarves prove to be very literal with their naming skills, you’ll find. They’ve an aura that forces the truth from you, as I’m sure you’ve experienced. Devilish thing. Most auras are. Only way to get them is by dealing with the infernal. Dwarves though, their less keen on bargains and more on outright taking them, devils and their deals be damned. Truthseekers out to find answers by any means necessary.”

That explained some things, and left more questions than it answered.

“The rest, Static-Shock Infantary and Berserkrs, best as I could tell.”

The sound of metal on metal split the air as once more, noise started to either side of my farm.

“And the fort outside?”

“See for yourself.” Velton gestured and disappeared. It was only moments of confused looking around later that I noticed him atop the walls. Curse on my lips, I hurried to join him.

The fort outside my walls was being stripped before my very eyes, reduced down to open road once more as the dwarves quite literally packed it up and took it with them. Faster than it had risen, it was taken down, stowed away and the marching continued on.

They had the grace to close the tear in the road at least, I found.

“Off to the Verdant Dwan camp.” Velton grimaced. “They’ll set up there, fence them off and put them all to the question, same as here.”

“I don’t think they’ll be very agreeable with that notion.”

“I agree. Which is why we’re going there to convince them.”

“Teleport?” I repeated his grimace, very much not fond of the sensation that would wrench me across reality.

“Indeed.” He took a moment to hug his daughter, then stepped forward and clasped my shoulder.

It was quick, at least. No forewarning, just atop my ramparts one moment and stumbling between tents and swearing mercenaries the next.

We had been spawned right in the center of someone’s dice game, and even an angry growl from a hulking minotaur did little to stifle the resentment that came with that.

“Aye, you crushed me dice!” One mostly drunk mercenary looked up at me with accusation in his eyes.

“And me coin.”

I ignored the man and stepped over his seated form, more intent on saving their lives than their pockets.

“Raffnyk. Where is he?”

The man stared at me with blank accusation until I repeated the question, this time with a much more threatening tone.

“In his tent or walking the walls, I reckon.”

His protests over coin followed me, drunken stupor outweighing survival instinct as he got up and sullenly jogged in my wake. The spark of a little hate flared within as I contemplated what a good smack about the head would do to silence this fool. My day had already been long, and my efforts to preserve this drunken lout’s life were hampered by his own prattling.

Still, a foul mood did not mean that he need die. If anything, I was the better man here for still wanting to keep him alive and his neck decidedly free from dwarven axes.

Tailed all the way through the camp by the drunken mercenary, I did not even stop to consider something that should have been obvious until it was too late. I barged past the guards on watch and pushed aside the tent flaps to stoop through.

Unfamiliar was the face that looked up at me once I barged into Raffnyk’s tent. Blaze-red hair, tanned skin and a sour complexion turned to face me. Surprise, then suspicion preceded wrath as the woman surged to her feet, rapier snatched from close at hand.

Raffnyk was not here. It took me a moment to remember that Raffnyk had been relieved of duty. That someone else had taken his place. Ergo, the command tent no longer housed the man I was looking for.

“I demand my coin!” Came the drunken slur, echoed once more from outside the tent. It was at this moment I decided that I had enough. The figure before me ignored, I whirled, burst out of the tent and grabbed the man by one shoulder. Even with a single hand, there was little effort as I hauled him off the ground and dragged him up in front of my face.

“You will still your tongue or I will relieve you of it.” Anger leaked through my words, some small spark directed at this oaf who did nothing but impede what had to be done. At a more merciful time, I would have just dropped the man and walked away. But there was a sliver of hatred inside that bloomed free as I physically tossed him away.

My gaze followed as he tumbled into another tent and crashed through the fabric, curses and shouts elicited from within. Only once he was vanished from sight did I turn to find my path barred by the now-attentive, although nervous, guards.

“Was that wholly necessary?” Came Velton’s irritated voice as the elf chose to appear around another corner at that moment. I ignored him and focused my intent on the guards instead.

Just more people doing their duty. But said duty prevented me from saving them in time.

“Move.” I growled.

They did not. Brave and foolish, one could commend them for standing firm in the face of a furious minotaur.

I was not in the mood.

They were spared from being likewise flung as the person that now commanded this camp strode out the tent, weapon in hand.

“There is a full company of dwarves marching on this camp as we speak.” Velton interjected before anything further could occur. “Should any of you wish to survive the day, I would recommend you throw open the gates and obey their commands. Do that, subject your people to their questions, and Gods Above willing you will live to see this day’s dusk.”

An explosion in the distance chose this moment to indicate that perhaps, the outcome would be otherwise.