Scream of Stone

44

3 Uktar, the Year of Rogue Dragons (1373 DR) The Canal Site

Though he was barely four feet tall, Hrothgar was heavy and stout. His boots could be described the same way, which accounted for all the noise. He had no reason to be quiet, so he reveled in the clomp of his boots on the wooden planks of the scaffold.

The ambient light from torches and lanterns set around the edge of the canal, reflected from the low overcast, was more than enough light for the dwarf to see by. He ran a hand along the stone blocks as he walked. The scaffold was set up about halfway up the side of the eastern canal wall. Hrothgar had been supervising the cutting of blocks at one of the three quarries that had been established along the length of the canal, so he hadn’t been there to make sure the blocks in that section had been properly set. He knew Devorast would have been there, and they wouldn’t have been left in place if he didn’t like the way they looked, but Hrothgar wanted to check for himself.

He dug at the space between two of the blocks with a fingernail. Leaning in close, he set one cheek to the stone wall, closed the opposite eye, and peered down the length of the mortar line. It was as close to straight as he’d ever seen.

“No way a human set this,” he muttered.

He sighed and stepped away, looking all around with a worried smile.

“Nothing to worry about,” the dwarf told himself, but he worried nonetheless.

He heard voices echoing from above and was thankful that someone else couldn’t sleep. He didn’t even bother to wonder why he hadn’t heard them before.

It took him a while to get to a ladder that led to a higher scaffold, then another ladder that took him to ground level.

“Who is that, there?” someone called out to himone of the guards? but the voice sounded familiar. “Hrothgar?” Devorast said.

The dwarf blinked and shook his head. At first it seemed as though Devorast’s voice had come from a rock lying at the edge of the trench. He blinked again and realized that it wasn’t a rock, but Devorast’s head, his hair matted with mud.

“Careful where you step,” Surero said, and Hrothgar was actually startled.

The dwarf looked down and sidestepped carefully away from the alchemist, who, like Devorast, was neck-deep in a hole.

“By Dumathoin’s sprinkled rubies, someone finally did it,” the dwarf said. “They buried you alive but ye part-way chewed yerselfs out!”

Surero shushed him and Devorast whispered, “Keep your voice down.”

Hrothgar stood his ground and folded his arms. “Well?” he said, as quietly as he could without whispering.

“Hand me that keg, there?” Surero asked.

Hrothgar looked around at his feet and noticed a small wooden keg about the size of his head. A length of the burning cord Surero called a “fuse” had been stuck through the top and lay coiled next to the sack.

“I couldn’t sleep,” the dwarf said, turning to look at Devorast, who had climbed up from the hole he’d been standing in and was walking toward the dwarf with hurried, determined steps. “What are ye two up to here, Ivar? What couldn’t ye tell me?”

“Quiet, please, Hrothgar,” Devorast urged.

The dwarf stood his ground and glared at the man, who bent and gingerly handed the keg of smokepowder to the alchemist.

“What are you doing with those?” the dwarf asked, though he was starting to understand all on his own. The idea didn’t make him happy at all, and part of him hoped Devorast would offer a different explanation, one that didn’t mean what Hrothgar knew it had to. “If you put those between the dirt and the stone, they’ll collapse the canal when they go off.”

“Then here’s hoping they never go off,” Surero said.

Devorast flashed the alchemist a dark look, then turned to the dwarf and said, “I hope they never will, too, but I had to have some assurance of quality.”

“A-what-ance of what, now?” the dwarf demanded, but managed to keep his voice low.

“You know what he means, Hrothgar,” Surero said, grunting as he climbed out of the hole. “If you can’t sleep, why not help us?”