The Survivors

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.”

“That would just show our weakness,” Arbuckle said. “That’s just what these priests and zealots want, for us to cower and wait.”

Bradok couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He knew both Argus and Silas, and neither of them seemed to be part of any grand scheme to overthrow Ironroot. Both had impressed him as honest and sincere men. He wondered for the first time how they could believe so fervently in a god when all reason seemed to deny it?

What did they know that he didn’t?

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the polished brass device Erus had given him. He couldn’t read the inscription without holding it close, but he didn’t have to read it. He knew what it said.

A person’s destination depends more on his choices than his direction.

“It’s clear that Argus and his fellow agitators are all in league,” Mayor Arbuckle said, interrupting Bradok’s thoughts. “We don’t know what they’re planning, we don’t know what will happen one week from today, but they won’t be able to carry out their treachery if they are in prison.”

“What if the day comes and goes and nothing happens but the believers still believe?” Bradok asked.

“That’s a good question,” the bushy-bearded dwarf said. “What are you going to do then?”

“Well,” Bladehook said, a look of sheer delight on his face. “If they are that crazy, that they refuse to acknowledge their folly, I suggest we execute a few of them. That should bring the others in line. Enough of this religious mania. Enough of the believers!”

“That’s a monstrous suggestion,” someone called from off to Bradok’s right.

“We can’t kill our own people,” Bushy-beard said.

“What’s the alternative?” Bladehook said. “Let the priests continue to stir up the people and gain power? Allow these lunatic believers to continue to live among us and spread their fearmongering and poison to our children?” He looked around the circle slowly, as if daring anyone to challenge him.

“Isn’t our children’s future, indeed the future of our race, worth shedding blood for? And who will care in the long run that some fools had to die to make our society better? Are their pitiful lives worth sacrificing our future?”

A long silence followed Bladehook’s grim statement, and his last words seemed to hang in the air.

“You see that I am right,” Bladehook said coaxingly at last. “I take no joy in this,” he went on. “But I say we give the believers until the day after the supposed destruction of Ironroot to recant their foolish behavior and rejoin the ranks of civilization.”

Another long silence hung in the air, with many staring at their shoes, others nodding solemnly.

“So be it,” Arbuckle said at last. “Until one week from today. After that, any that refuse to see reason will be put to death.” The mayor looked around the room, the gold caps on his mustache twitching, then rapped on the lectern with the gavel. “All in favor?” he said.

“Stop,” someone yelled, shattering the silence of the room. With amazement, Bradok realized it was, once again, his voice. Nobody else dared oppose the measure. “Stop this!”

All eyes in the chamber turned to look at him.

“Can’t you see Argus is a good, honest man? He is speaking the truth, at least from his own point of view,” he said, walking out from behind his table. “I’ve only been in this chamber one week, and I’ve already seen everything he’s accused us of: greed, graft, and outright theft. Aye, there is truth in what he says.”

At that there were cries of astonishment and calls for Bradok to cease speaking.

“No, I must say this: I’ve seen dwarves care more about making money they don’t need than they do about helping those who are in need. I’ve seen business conducted without honor, where every contracted word was twisted for the maker’s advantage.” Bradok swept his eyes around the chamber, half accusatory and half hopeful. His eyes lit on Much, who quickly glanced away. “And now it’s come to this,” he continued. “Now we’re standing here, blaming an innocent dwarf for the crime of recognizing our sins, and preparing to kill those many others whose only crime is believing him? Have we really sunk so low?

“And is it possible, I have to ask myself,” he added in a soft voice, “that he and the other believers are right, and that something is about to happen, something ominous, and that Reorx has done a few of us the favor of warning us of impending doom?”

“Enough!” Bladehook said, pointing furiously at him. “You’ve gone too far, Axeblade. You’re siding with the believers now-”

“No, I’m not, if you’ll just-”

“I call the vote!” Mayor Arbuckle interrupted, slamming down his gavel. “The council needs to rule on my proposed measure.”

More than two-thirds of the hands went up. Bradok, looking around, took solace in the fact that neither Much nor the bushy-bearded dwarf voted aye. But neither spoke up to defend him either.

“Let the scribes write up the decree,” Arbuckle said once he had gaveled the measure passed. “I don’t want any of the believers to be caught unawares. Fair warning to all is fair.”

“If there’s no other business,” Bladehook said, turning away wearily. “It’s late and I’m going home to my bed.”

“I have something to say,” Bradok said, standing rooted to the spot. “You have all heard my views. I cannot condone this chamber’s decision. While I’m not a believer myself, I have always felt that if other dwarves wish to believe in Reorx or not, that was none of my business. We supposedly live in a free society, one of laws and justice. Well, how can it be truly free if dwarves aren’t free to believe anything they wish?”

“I’m sorry, son,” Mayor Arbuckle said, coming up behind him and putting a hand on his shoulder, speaking in a tone that showed genuine feeling. “You’re just too young to understand what’s at stake here. We have to protect Ironroot for the greater good.”

Bradok stared at him then pointedly removed the mayor’s hand from his shoulder. “I understand that you see things that way,” he said. “That’s why I can no longer serve on this council.”

An astonished gasp issued from the councilmen. It was a great privilege to serve on the council, and more than two hundred years had passed since any dwarf had renounced his seat.

“I wish you well,” Bradok said wearily; he turned, descended the stairs behind his seat, and left the chamber.

The mob was still outside when Bradok pushed open the heavy doors of city hall. The number of guardsmen had more than doubled.

Taking a deep breath, he walked slowly down the steps and pushed his way right into the center of the mob. A rough hand descended on Bradok’s shoulder, and he was jerked around to stare into the bulb-nosed face of the impassioned Kellik Felhammer.

“I take it,” he said in his gravelly voice, his eyes taking in Bradok’s sad face, “that things didn’t go well in there?”

Bradok gripped the burly smith’s arm, holding him fast even though the other tried to break free, not knowing what to say.

“They’ve gone mad,” he managed at gasp at last. “Arbuckle and Bladehook have got them convinced that Argus and Silas and the street preachers are mixed up in some kind of plot to overthrow Ironroot and bring it under the religious rule of the priests.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Kellik said, his face at first disbelieving, then darkening into a scowl.

“It gets worse,” Bradok said as others close by leaned in to hear. “According to some believers, Ironroot has a week to repent before Reorx will destroy the place. When … if that doesn’t happen,” he corrected himself, “the council has declared that all believers must give up their faith or be executed as enemies of the city.”

Kellik swore as Bradok let him go and an angry muttering spread through the crowd. Bradok’s message was passed along.

“We’ll fight them,” Kellik said, turning to face the crowd and raising his voice to be heard by all. “We won’t let those self-important peacocks rule us by their whims. They’re our representatives, they answer to us, and we’re going to remind them of that fact.” He thrust his hammer into the air for emphasis.

“Wait,” Bradok said, lowering his voice lest he draw the attention of the guard on the city hall steps. “There are too many guardsmen here, and there are more inside. Don’t act recklessly. You’ll just get yourselves killed for no reason.”

Kellik fixed his eyes on Bradok, his look both disappointed and challenging. “If we let them get away with this now,” he said, “there’ll be no stopping them. They’ll rule this city with an iron fist. We have to strike now while we have the chance of surprise.”

Bradok opened his mouth to argue, but he stopped when he heard his name called out by someone in the throng.

“There you are,” Much said. A moment later the dwarf pushed himself through the mob. His face shone with sweat and his beard had begun to come unbraided, but he wore a look of supreme relief.

“I’m worried for you, lad, I surely am,” he said, clasping Bradok by the shoulders. “What you did in there was brave … stupid, but brave. Now you’re in a pickle, I bet.”

“What did he do?” Kellik asked, clearly unimpressed by Much’s praise.

“Oh, not much,” Much said. “He just stood up to them, the whole entire city council. Told them what he thought of their plan and it was a damn eloquent speech too. Then he resigned.”

The smith gave Bradok an appraising look then smiled. “You got stones, boy. I never would have guessed. You’re the perfect person to lead us against the council.”

“No,” Bradok said. “A war here and now will only give the council an excuse to carry out its sentence one week early.” He looked the big smith in the eyes. “Tell me, are you a believer?”

Kellik nodded.

“Trust me,” Bradok said to Kellik as Much listened. “If you have loved ones, get them quickly and meet me at the shop of Silas the cooper in the Artisans’ Cavern. Pass the word to any other believers,” Bradok said. “But do it quickly, we may not have much time.”

With that Bradok turned and pressed through the crowd to the open space beyond. Much shook Kellik’s hand solemnly and hurried to follow.

Bradok’s pace was measured, neither rushed nor leisurely, but purposeful. The cavern below city hall stood mostly empty, save for a few nervous dwarves, just getting the courage to emerge from their homes and shops since the guardsmen were gone.

Bradok’s determined stride brought him to his home in less than five minutes. Much grabbed his arm before he entered.

“What are you planning, lad?” Much demanded.

“I’m going to the cooper’s shop to finish what he started,” Bradok said.

“Finish that cockamamie ship?” Much said, his handlebar mustache bending down as he frowned. “Don’t tell me that now you believe he heard some god telling him to build it?”

Bradok sighed and looked back down the cavern toward city hall.

“I don’t know what I believe,” he said. “But I know this: If Arbuckle and Bladehook are right, then I prefer to be wrong.”

“I hear you there,” Much said, nodding.

“This is something I have decided to do, Much,” Bradok said. “You’re welcome to come with me, but I’ll understand if you don’t.”

Much released Bradok’s arm and stepped back onto the walk. He looked Bradok up and down and put out his arm. Bradok clasped it firmly.

“If this is good-bye, lad, I have to say it’s been a pleasure knowing you.”

“Likewise, old man,” Bradok said. Then he turned and vaulted up the steps to the front door.

Moments later he threw an old suit of traveling clothes and a heavy cloak into a worn leather pack with battered silver buckles. In his younger days, Bradok had traveled to faraway cities to complete his training as a master jeweler, and he still had his old travel kit. He unrolled the kit and laid the cloth out, quickly filling its many pockets with things he would need: a straight razor, folding knife, small stick of wax, and other sundries. When he finished, he rolled the kit up and tied it closed.

Satisfied that he had everything he needed, he changed out of his dress boots into a more comfortable and well-worn pair. His next stop was his study, where he grabbed a pen and a bottle of expensive black ink. His journal and a book on the finer points of the jeweler’s craft went into his pack next.

Finally, Bradok headed down to his workshop on the ground floor. He had just stepped off the last stair and into the foyer when he heard a grating voice behind him.

“Just where do you think you are going?”

Sapphire.

“I’m leaving, Mother,” he said with a sigh, looking back up to the balcony where she stood, watching him. “I think for good.”

“Nonsense,” she said. “Why would you do that?”

“The council plans to kill the believers in one week if they do not renounce their faith,” he said. “I rather doubt many of them will, so I’ve renounced my council seat and I’m leaving this town. I’ll not be a party to the murder of good, honest dwarves.”

“What murder?” Sapphire demanded, her voice rising to a screech. “Those believers have gotten out of hand. They are everywhere now, preaching doom and gloom. They have brought this on themselves. It’s about time the council did something about them.”

“You wouldn’t understand, Mother,” Bradok said. “They’re not monsters; they’re people, dwarves like you and me.”

“They’re religious fools who don’t deserve the indulgence we have granted their foolishness,” Sapphire screamed.

Bradok paid his mother no heed. He turned his back and passed down the narrow hallway that separated the house from his workshop. After unbolting the door, he lit an oil lamp and hung it on a hook that dropped down on a chain from the ceiling. The light revealed a small, neat room with workbenches, rows of tools on hooks, bins of metal rod stock, and a large iron safe with an elaborate lock in its center.

He crossed the room to one of the workbenches and picked up the rolled leather kit that held his jeweler’s tools, slipping them into his pack. From his belt, he withdrew a ring of keys and, selecting a small, rather plain-looking one, stepped to the safe. Ignoring the enormous lock, Bradok moved the brass plate with the name of the safe maker to one side, revealing a small keyhole. He quickly unlocked the safe and pulled open the heavy door.

The ornate lock was a trap, of course, designed to foil unwary thieves.

Inside the safe were stacks of velvet-lined cases holding his best work. Bins of raw jewels filled a shelf, along with several thick folios that detailed Bradok’s business holdings.

Bradok selected a few of the velvet cases and moved them to a nearby workbench; then he withdrew the safe’s only other item: a gilded sword. Leaving the safe standing open, he clipped the sword to his belt, enjoying the sudden weight of the weapon. With a deft move, he pulled it from its scabbard and held it up in the lantern light. The sword shone brilliantly. The blade was broad and beveled, with a concave rill running along its center. The crosspiece had been shaped to resemble dwarven hammers and was etched with elaborate knots, each etching done over in gold. Black leather, stained by years of sweat and oil, covered the hilt, giving it a sure grip. On the pommel sat a ruby the size of a quail’s egg.

His father had given him the sword on his twentieth birthday and Bradok had treasured it ever since. With a practiced flourish, Bradok slipped the blade back into the scabbard and slid it home with a click. His father had told him the sword was magical, made by some elf wizard-smith, but Bradok had never found any proof of that. The magic in the blade had always been the feeling of the father who had given it to him. It was one of the rare times he’d enjoyed being with his father, one of the few times he’d ever even thought of Mirshawn as a father.

Bradok pushed the bitter memories aside and returned to the task at hand. From a cabinet above a workbench, he pulled out a small sack and a long strip of soft cloth. He opened the velvet boxes and laid out the jewelry pieces they contained. Each one was a masterpiece, the pinnacle of his art and even though he doubted he’d need them wherever he was going, neither could he bear to leave them behind. He carefully laid each piece out on the soft cloth and folded it into a flat, walletlike pack that he stowed in the little bag, which then went in his pack.

With a last look at his orderly workshop, the place that had been the center of his life for more than twenty years, Bradok cinched his pack closed, slung it over his shoulders, and walked out, shutting the door behind himself.

When he reached the foyer again, he found Sapphire there, waiting for him. At the sight of the sword on his belt, her face fell. Some of her haughtiness melted away.

“It’s true, then,” she sniffed. “You’re really planning to leave.”

“Yes, Mother,” he said. “There’s a cooper in the Artisans’ Cavern who had a vision. He’s building a boat, or he was until they arrested him. It’s partly my fault that he was arrested. I want to make amends. I’m going to his shop to finish the boat.”

“Madness!” Sapphire scoffed. “You’ve always been a sensible boy, Bradok. You know there’s no such thing as visions.”

“No, I don’t really know that, Mother,” he said, turning to look her square in the face. “I’m beginning to doubt everything I thought I knew. Perhaps I don’t know anything much at all.”

“Well, I can agree with you on that,” she returned. “But what makes you think this cooper has any answers? What makes you think helping him will make one bit of difference?”

“It’s just a feeling I have in my gut,” Bradok said, opening his front door. “I guess it’s something you’d have to take on faith.”

He left Sapphire standing in the hall with her mouth agape as he turned and strode briskly down the steps to the street. In his haste, he didn’t even shut the door.