CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

“DDDDWWWAAARRRR...”

The dwarf sat up in blackness.

“AAAAARRRRFFFFFFF...”

He groped for anything tangible. The dwarf found naught.

“SEEK ME...”

But despite the hollow voice’s echoes, the dwarf could trace them to no direction.

“DWARF...”

Shifting his stout limbs to run, the dwarf instead submerged slowly into an abyssal floor. No matter his writhing, neither leg cooperated. Further cries for aid met itself and eventual silence. Indeed booming pleas trailed on until nothing, each repeat weighing heavier on the his soul. Before long he lowered fully into blackness, his vision the same.

“What does she wish done with the heavy one?”

“Yes, haul him this way. His fate is the chieftain’s.”

The dwarf’s lids cracked. Not only had he known similar bounds--they led to his death. The dwarf’s last ‘SAVE’ the morning of ‘ARCHERY’ practice, not much felt at stake to lose, though he did not relish the potential pain and time wasted. He remembered the bandit’s sword boring through his chest and the sight of his own blood in mass quantity. It was a mercy he did not live long enough to chronicle the later stages of agony. Just as merciful, Waspig and the others were currently safe. The remembered sight of its corpse dragged through a desecrated church brought about tears. His rope choked hands squeezed.

“And what of the other?” one asked--behind.

“What of it? You wish to eat the eight legged?,” responded the other ahead.

“No, but the others may...”

“Slay them, I don’t. Leave it out the cart.”

The dwarf peered past his feet requiring awkward adjustment, and he beheld his geta and the bare space of empty rotted wood.

“Has dinner been gathered?”

“Other brothers hunted well, I hear.”

“What is it?”

“Mammoth. We’ll eat for awhile.”

“And fetch something for the ivory, at least,” dejectedly.

The dwarf shut his eyes and steadied his breaths. Once again he had been snatched--completely carelessly. He insulted himself for it.

Rocks fell. The dwarf noticed the steep cliff face traveled alongside, boulders precariously on multiple edges. One came down jolting the two bandits.

“Hells,” complained the front.

“It is less preferable than the steeple.”

“But the mammoth are plentiful.”

“For now.”

Dark clouds gathered overhead, and the dwarf could not make out even the yellow of the plains. His view miserable, he shut his eyes and swallowed.

“The brute’s awake,” one suggested. His opposite laughed.

“The sooner the better. Let’s get him inside.”

Through a wide crack the two with loaded wagon traveled, light dimming on their backs. Many bones broke up their pace. Turning a corner, sight returned via torches of great red flames planted interspersed. The dwarf was toppled from his ride and dragged on his feet. The entered cave, somewhat aided by holes in the ceiling, dressed itself heavy in moss. Made up of dirt and rock, the floor supported six bedrolls. Two men the dwarf recognized, frowning. He was absolutely certain at least one of them had been wound in silk and delivered. But it did delight the dwarf to know not all bandits were present--perhaps Nasteze kept its nastiest. Recalling ‘chieftain’, however, he could not hope to avoid facing her again.

Laid against the wall, the dwarf gained a better look at his kidnappers. Adorned in leather and iron, they looked more than capable of slaying the great mythical tusked beasts so boasted of. One, eyepatch swallowing of the face what a mop of hair did not, lit a pipe. His opposite, shorter and with both eyes, appeared almost as wide as the dwarf. It disturbed him to look downward at his thick legs and so he shut out his sight again. But the tears had long stopped.

“Where is the chieftain?” asked the stouter of the cart walkers.

“She will return by dinner,” answered the vision impaired. “Patience.”

“Where is she?”
“Cease your questions. He is listening.”

The dwarf kept his eyes closed.

“So you say,” doubted aloud the dwarf-like human.

“I’ll request you whipped, Caltraz.”

“What have I done?” asked genuinely.

“Enough.”

And the dwarf nodded off...

“DDDDWWWAAARRRR...”

The dwarf lay in blackness.

“AAAAARRRRFFFFFFF...”

He kept still.

“DWARF... SEEK ME...”

The dwarf’s teeth ground into one another. They shattered and the dwarf swallowed. The taste of bone began to mingle with warm iron. The dwarf dribbled blood onto his beard, staining it. He still did not stir a limb, prone and facing upwards at the abyss. The voice, similar to The Ponderous One but gruffer, bellowed in clarity.

“THE BAY...”

“Awake, stone digger.”

The stone digger blinked, clearly back in the overgrown cavern of torch light, no outside influence recognizable. Two men hacked at hung meat. They took their tools to the blood soaked mess and carved, and the dwarf could not face it. A slap shocked his eyes wide.

“What are ye ‘fraid of, beard boy?” asked an unfamiliar voice. Its friendly rasp frightened the dwarf, determined to stoically reveal nothing. “Ye’ll b’eatin’ soon, too. Can’t ‘ave our digger starve.” The leather clad stubbled figure chuckled. His legs long and his chin pointed, the latter tipped towards the dwarf’s bald dome. “You look wild eyed, boy. Cheer up. We ain’t gonna kill you. Are we?” questioned aloud the rasp. Another man, skin as dark as the unlit cave, showed white teeth.

“Not if he ain’t gonna do nothing.”

“He ain’t. Get a load of this expression, boy’s gone pale. Can’t see ‘im ‘urtin’ a fly.”

“How much you wanna bet, Balto?”

“Got nothin’ to bet,” confirmed Balto.

Meat cooking, the wafting scent disturbed the dwarf. It did smell great. But, having already eaten well and recent at the elf settlement, the dwarf’s anxious situation did little favors for his appetite. To consider further the menu of a thought mythical, extinct species frustrated him. It was not as if he wouldn’t do the same to survive in desperation--were they desperate?

“Chieftain.”

All rose, Balto scratching at the stubbed hairs on his chin, Caltraz leaning on one trunk leg over the other. The eyepatched rested in a corner. A woman entered the den of criminals and approached the dwarf. Her ragged clothes reminded him greatly of his own attire, though hers wanted repair. Her own sandals caked in blood, hair matted and down to her knees, she took the dwarf’s head in her hand tilting it at various angles.

“This man will mine?”

“If he’s man,” responded Caltraz.

“So small,” she agreed. “But aye. There’s work in them arms. He’ll need fattening up. You’ll eat mammoth tonight, mine like one tomorrow. We won’t kill you. Deal?”

The dwarf looked at her as if asked to sign away the rights of Waspig.

“Eat and think on it, small one. Not too hard.”

He swallowed hard.

As meals began to distribute among the bandits, lightly bearded Balto brought the dwarf a bowl.

“Chili. You gonna be a good boy if I release those bonds?”

The dwarf hesitated, ultimately nodding, thought of splashing the bowl in Balto’s face satisfying but unrealistic. Balto saw to the rope and the dwarf felt his worn wrists, interconnected shape branded red. He accepted the bowl with both hands, surprised then of his ravenousness, chili consumed. Balto, not situated much further away, noticed and replaced the bowl with another hot one. The dwarf awkwardly thanked him, unsure of the strange hospitality. Down the second helping went; his chest went warm. Second bowl scooted across granite, the dwarf curled into rest...

“DDDDWWWAAARRRR...”

The dwarf’s eyes shot open. Balto’s beard hung a few inches away. Scared backwards, the dwarf bumped his head on rock and the bandit before him cackled.

“Morning. You’ll be working the mines today, beard boy,” he announced. “And I’ll be your supervisor. But the chieftain requested an audience first. Ain’t suggestin’ to disappoint her, but be quick. We have quotas.” And Balto began to wander off before stopping. “Don’t give us a reason to bind you ‘gain.”

The dwarf lunged at Balto, tackling him, pressing his thick thumbs into Balto’s eyes. Squealing and thrashing, the bandit gripped a leg of the dwarf and swung with all his might. The dwarf gained flight and crashed into moss, head dazed. Through the blurring the dwarf recognized Balto coming forward, blade drawn. But a woman’s voice called him to stop. The dwarf shuffled to his feet before a blow brought him back down. The chieftain pulled at his beard.

“Don’t thrash about. Unbecoming. But you will make an excellent miner.”

Her eyes, so close to the dwarf’s, chilled the dwarf. Her demeanor threatened him--but she needed shoving. He regret if his actions could bring about worse consequences than death. Having warned himself, the dwarf resisted reason and knocked his head against the chieftain’s. She recovered, grit her teeth, and spat in his face.

“Stupid boy. Those kinds of miners don’t go home.”

The dwarf’s dizzy state lubricated his functions of reason, arguments slipping and bouncing away. He forced himself up and took another blow. It frustrated him he could not seem to will a sword into him. He realized he’d have to accomplish the deed himself, but his incapacitated state restricted options greatly. Without much else in his toolbox, the dwarf spat back at the chieftain. She made a guttural sound and kicked the dwarf’s chin knocking him to the soft moss ground. He lay there receiving another blow, ready for death. The pain received doled itself out on each limb, chest tight, heart weak. Involuntarily he cried.

“Baby,” the chieftain declared. “He’s not ready, fatten him up and we’ll try again tomorrow.”

“Yes sir,” several agreed, stout bandit watching wordlessly.

The dwarf lost consciousness.