TRC - Searching for the Sky Ch. 10

Looking over at the other side of the room, Kal cut the flow of energy to the runes. It wasn't a growl, the dwarf leaning against the far wall was snoring.

"Dûldin!" cried Sandy running over and picking up the stocky man in a crushing hug. The human thought for a moment that she had killed the dwarf as his head lolled about. After a few moments, his eyes opened to find his face mashed between the golem's breasts.

"Nurlaf! Glad ta see ya made it back safely!" he said once he was fully conscious. The man wrapped his arms around Sandy and seemed to be trying his best to crush her ribs.

Kal made a mental note to not accept any hugs from dwarves unless he had his strength rune.

After a couple of seconds, Dûldin let out a wheeze that sounded much like his snoring from earlier. "Yer needin' ta let me go, Nurlaf, or it'll be our last greetin'," he said in a rush as the rest of the air in his lungs was forced out.

Sandy put the man down with a small laugh. Dûldin took a couple of deep breaths as the color returned to his face.

Kal took a close look at the first dwarf he'd ever seen. He only stood up to the mage's chest but what Kat first mistook as a roll of fat around his belly turned out to just be the stocky man's wide frame. Dûldin's arms and legs seemed almost comically thick, even for his frame. but Kal had seen the dwarf survive a golem's bear hug, so he could hardly question the sturdiness of the dwarf's body. The man's hair was pulled into a braid which ran nearly halfway down his back. His long beard was split down the middle and braided as well, looking like the tines of a fork hanging from the sides of his mouth. On the left braid of his beard, a strip of orange cloth had been woven in.

Kal had touched up on his knowledge of dwarves once he had gotten too tired for working on the flight rune. The cloth wasn't very interesting to look at but the material was made from a special type of mold. The mold sent out long thin filaments over the surfaces of rocks in search of food which dwarves collected. Cooking and killing the mold left tough, mildly elastic threads that could be turned into yarn or cloth.

Though unremarkable in normal light, the cloth made from these threads shone extremely well to creatures with darkvision. The author of the book proposed it was a means of warning potential grazers that the mold tasted bad or was poisonous. He went on to verify that there was a mild toxin within the threads that was completely destroyed by the cooking process.

The dwarves used them to tell different guilds apart. Two-and-a-half to three centuries was an average lifespan for the stocky humanoids. Few dedicated themselves to a single profession for that entire time. There was no internal economy within the kingdom. This made switching jobs as easy as telling the guild leader of your desire to move and wait for an opening to come up. Unfortunately, that could mean waiting anywhere from a couple of days to a decade. Jobs in the Great Forge and the mining tunnels were hard to come by.

The only job mandatory in Dwarven society was administration. In a vast departure from most of the other races, nobody wanted to be King. Every dwarf would rather swing a pick or a hammer than have to deal with sniveling foreign dignitaries and thieving merchants. Therefore, each dwarf was required to spend time as a magistrate. From that pool, they would choose the next King. Legend had it that the magistrates locked themselves in a room and drank until one of them finally passed out. The unlucky dwarf would wake up with a crown on his head. They tried to sweeten the deal by asking the prettiest of dwarven women to become concubines and offering all of the choicest foods. As yet no Dwarven King had taken up the mantle a second time.

Kings also had the job of occasionally declaring wars. Wars with other dwarven kingdoms were more sport than actual wars, with few casualties and those usually came more from accidents than intention. Before the battle each side would choose the color of the strips woven into their beards, or hair as was the case for female dwarves, to tell the sides apart. A dwarf wouldn't attack another who wasn't displaying one of the ribbons. For this reason, those who ran from battle would often hide the fabric from view as they fled. This led to the phrase, "covering your beard," becoming one of the highest forms of insult in dwarven culture.

Before they arrived Sandy gave him a quick rundown of the different colors that she knew of. The orange in Dûldin's beard represented The Watch. His guild took care of security and defense, above and below-ground patrols, and a very bored constabulary. There wasn't much crime in a dwarven stronghold when a second offense for just about everything was exile with only the clothes on your back and food for a couple of days. When all of your necessities were taken care of by the kingdom as a whole, they didn't take kindly to those who resorted to crime.

The dwarf finally seemed to notice Kal. "So this is the one ye were tellin' us of afore ye left last time?" he asked Sandy, scowling and jerking a thumb in the mage's direction.

"Be nice Dûldin, he's the one giving me a little girl."

"Well, ye wouldn't 'ave had ta wait if'n ye monster girls weren't so hung up on blasted humans." The mage was startled when the dwarf answered. Looking closely, he could see a similar device to his own in the man's ear. "Lotsa boys 'round who'd 'ave been happy ta stoke yer forge."

Kal snerked, trying not to laugh as the image of the large bellows Telsin's blacksmith used popped into his head.

"Wot's that? Are ye thinkin' Nurlaf bein with a dwarf is funny?! Mark me, human, I'd bang her like hot iron on an anvil! An' she'd prolly like it too!"

The mage's shoulders shook as he tried not to laugh in Dûldin's face, holding up a hand to keep the stocky man from speaking. It took a minute. but he finally composed himself. Instead of addressing the dwarf he looked at Sandy. "Stoking your forge and bang you like a hot iron on an anvil. I am so using both of those next time I see Gerda or Ikuno."

As Sandy started laughing at the thought Dûldin seemed to get angrier.

"Are ye makin' fun o' how we speak now?"

"Absolutely not! I think both of those phrases are amazing! Just wondering how some of my women will react when I ask them if they want to 'bang'," he replied, chuckling.

The dwarf gave him an appraising look before laughing himself. "S'pose I canna blame ye fer that." Stepping forward he offered his hand, "The name's Dûldin, I was sent ta greet ye an' Nurlaf."

Kal took the offered hand, his strength rune flaring immediately to keep the dwarf from crushing his hand.

"Ye said ye had other womenfolk," said Dûldin through gritted teeth. "Maybe you could free up this one," the dwarf nodded towards Sandy, "let others have a chance."

Not wanting to cause an incident and not seeing the need to show dominance, Kal pumped power into the strength rune until their grips were about even. He had to hide his smile as a look of surprise flashed across the dwarf's face. "I'm Kal. Actually, Sandy isn't mine. Two of her sisters are, but she isn't. We enjoy each other's company and if she wants to have another child later on, I'll be happy to help. But until she tells me she wants a change in our relationship, she's a free woman. By the way, why do you call her Nurlaf?"

Dûldin's grip relaxed as he listened to Kal, casting hopeful glances towards the golem.

Sandy was the one who answered his question. "'Nurl' is the Old Dwarvish word for stone and man. 'Nurlaf' is the word for woman. They called me that from the first day I met them."

"Tis our word fer yer kind lass. We've ne'er been needin' another name. In the history of Hordinfel, we've ne'er seen two o' yas at once."

"Hordinfel?"

"Where yer standin' boy."

Kal nodded.

"Along wit comin' ta say hello, I've also been waitin' ta give ye a warnin'."

Kal would have to ask Kahrin where her homeland was when he got home. The similarities in how she and the dwarf spoke were uncanny. "Warning?" he asked.

"Aye, Nurlaf's got a bit o' a followin'," Dûldin explained. "Lotsa fellows wantin' ta see what fuckin' a lass partly made o' stone would be like. Word got around after she left this last time that she was bringin' back the one who put coals in her forge." Kal bit his tongue and through force of will maintained a straight face. Dûldin didn't notice. "There's a number o' lads very unhappy wit ye fer stealin' her away. We're certain none would raise a hand against ye. But we're not ones fer takin' chances. The leader o' The Watch is askin' ya to go straight to the snake lady's lair."

Kal's face fell in disappointment, he was really looking forward to seeing the inside of the stronghold.

"Assumin' ye come back, I'll let ye look around a bit then," said the dwarf, guessing the reason for the human's expression. "It'll be safer if Nurlaf's fans know ye 'aven't a claim on her.

"Captain o' The Watch is also sayin' ye prolly don't want ta go near her," he continued, speaking directly to Sandy. "We're not sure what might happen ta someone made partly out o' stone."

Kal was confused, "Why would it matter?"

Dûldin raised an eyebrow, "Woulda thought Nurlaf told ya what ye were dealin' wit."

The mage shook his head, "All I've heard is that it's a snake lady."

"Aye, an' like none I've seen or heard of afore, 'cept in fairy tales. Ye ever heard of a cockatrice?

Kal nodded, feathered lizards about the size of a dog and known for their petrifying gaze. Every mention of them in a book was accompanied by a recommendation to run far, far away if you ever came across one.

"Good ta hear. Take a cockatrice, turn it inta a woman an' stick a bunch of snakes on her head. Live, venomous, snakes that don't like you."

"She wears snakes on her head?"

"Nay, she don't wear them, they're a part o' her. Has 'em instead o' hair. Someone started callin' her a gorgon an' it stuck."

"And the cockatrice...?"

"Aye, meetin' her gaze can turn ye inta stone, but only if ya piss her off. She's yet ta turn a dwarf, an' the humans that ran say they jus' couldn't move fer a few days while she 'ad her way wit 'em. There's a gallery o' statues down there o' the human's who tried ta attack her."

"Anything else you can tell me?"

"Yer Dwarvish is shite an' yer lips don't move right."

Kal blinked repeatedly, he hadn't been expecting that.

"No matter," continued the stocky man, "She speaks Dwarvish an' some o' the common tongue. Ye'll be alright."

Kal turned to Sandy who had been quietly observing the conversation. "Shall we?"

The golem nodded and took Kal's hand growing a stone mitt over it like Gerda did for the shorter trip.

The mage smiled at Dûldin, who was frowning at the rock that surrounded his and Sandy's hands. "See you in a little while," he said just before they dropped into the floor.

The dwarf stared for a minute at the floor where they had disappeared. "Ah'm sorry mage, but I hope yer wrong," he said before walking over to the door that led back to the Dwarven City.

---

Dwarven tunnels were as straightforward as the race that made them. Kal was thankful for this as they led almost all the way up to the woman's home, leaving only the last fifty paces or so untouched stone.

"Helloo," he called out softly, not wanting to startle the monster girl and possibly provoke an attack. Poking his head around the corner and peering into the gorgon's sparse home he could see the glimmering vein of mithril running along the back wall. He had to admit it was a pretty looking metal.

Glancing about, his brow furrowed. Sandy had scouted the monster girl's home and said she was there before leaving but now there was no sign of her. Sighing, Kal stepped inside, thinking to find a place to sit and wait for her to return.

Something stabbed into the back of his shoulder. Immediately, searing pain shot down his arm and up his neck. The mage jumped forward, activating the healing and cure poison runes as he spun around.

He saw two large snake-like glowing eyes surrounded by twelve smaller sets, all staring at him with hatred.

Kal shut his eyes tight and looked away, or he would have if his body had responded.

The odd angle of his feet from quickly turning around sent him toppling over as his body locked up.