Friday, May 2, 2025

the unwanted elves 9

 

Unwanted Elves

Chapter 9

 

I wish I could say that the waiting period was spent in quiet contemplation of the forthcoming ceremony, but if I did I’d be lying. I was used to waiting for alchemical processes to bear fruit, some potions particularly can take months to prepare, but even when Harmon’s apprentice I had some idea what was going on. At the moment I felt totally out of my depth, as I knew very little about dwarven magic and nothing about metal crafting so I had to leave everything to Thebroval, which did little for my anxious mental state. Meghimira had invited Chessina and Silavara to examine dwarven fabrics and I knew that I would be as much use there as a fifth wheel on a wagon. I was just about to start wearing a path through the carpet, when Alvarek knocked and entered the chamber accompanied by another dwarf of similar age to Alvarek, at least as far as I could tell dwarven ages.

“Towermaster, may I present Vesolmir son of Pyzalmir a fellow member of clan Prezemechek.” Alvarek said formally.

“Well met, Vesolmir son of Pyzalmir,” I replied equally formally, “may your hands never lose their skill.”

“And may your skills increase Towermaster.” Vesolmir completed the customary speech.

“Towermaster... Castamir,” Alvarek hesitated, “I... we need to ask you a favour.”

“Name it,” I said, instantly, “if it is in my power, it will be done.” I knew Alvarek well enough, that he wouldn’t be asking this diffidently if it wasn’t important. I also knew that he wouldn’t ask for something dishonourable.

“Vesolmir is due to fight a duel tomorrow, and we would like you to be referee.” Alvarek said in a rush.

“I am honoured, Alvarek, Vesolmir that you should ask me,” I replied, and it was an honour as dwarves took their duels seriously. “But I know nothing of axeplay, why do you ask me?”

“Because you as Towermaster, Castamir have the power to stop foul play by force if necessary.” Said Alvarek.

I said nothing for a moment as I was shocked, dwarves being renowned for their sense of honour.

“You expect problems then,” I said, “I will of course act as referee if you wish it, but could you please explain what is going on.” I gestured them to sit as I had a feeling this would take a long time.

“The duel is between myself and Babiarz of Clan Veshol.” said Vesolmir. “I don’t like the way he is paying attention to my wife Salvarusha, and she isn’t happy either. Babiarz offered marriage to her earlier, but she chose me, and that has always rankled with him. He continues to insinuate that she is too good for me and that he could give her things that a pauper like me could not.” His face flushed with embarrassment.

I understood a little of this. Harmon had told me that clan Prezemechek was quite poor having almost bankrupted themselves aiding the king in one of the interminable wars with the goblins. Not every clan had been so forthcoming. It was only recently that, thanks to the hard work and skill of people like Alvarek that the clan was regaining its former position.

“Babiarz made certain insinuations that I couldn’t stomach, there were harsh words, and so I challenged him to a duel.” Said Vesolmir. “I am sufficiently more skilled than Babiarz that I am confident of winning the duel, but he seemed smug and gloating over the challenge. I consulted Alvarek and we both consider it likely that he will cheat in some way. We would like you to act as referee to prevent Babiarz cheating.”

“Very well.” I said. “When is the duel to take place?”

“Tomorrow, at the sixth hour.” Replied Alvarek.

 

oOo

 

“Castamir, just look at these fabrics,” said Chessina, excitedly when she returned to our quarters, with what looked like several bolts of fabric, carried into the room by a sturdy young dwarf woman.

“They are magnificent.” I said, and meant it. The colours were vibrant, and the patterns were intricate and beautiful, with some picked out in metallic threads.

“You will look stunning in these, love,” I said, “and when we go to the royal court you will outshine every woman there, and the overbred, underbrained harridans will turn green with envy. Ah, please don’t actually turn them green, you would put the King and Queen off their meals.” I added, as I could see Chessina look suddenly thoughtful.

“Loom-mistress Perzamira wanted to gift all these fabrics to me, but I insisted on paying for one of the bolts.” Chessina said. “Perzamira said that showing off their latest cloth designs at court would lead to more sales so it paid to gift me in the long run; but the dwarves have done so much for us I wanted to pay for some. Apparently Perzamira suggested gifting Harmon some cloth for his sister, but he refused, saying that his sister’s vanity would become so large that her head would explode.”

“When all this business with the elves is over, I look forward to taking you to the capital so everyone can see how lovely you are.” I said. “I know I’m biased, but I think you look wonderful wearing anything. However, you are loveliest when you aren’t wearing anything but a smile.”

Chessina suddenly realised that there was something very important for us to do in the bedchamber.

 

Sometime later I said, “I have to get up early tomorrow love, I’ve agreed to officiate at a duel as Alvarek asked me on behalf of a fellow clan member. There is a suggestion of possible foul play.”

“I’ll come and help keep an eye on things.” Said Chessina.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” I replied, and continued quickly before Chessina could remonstrate, “females aren’t supposed to be present at male duels, nor are males supposed to attend female duels.”

“Dwarven women fight duels?” Chessina exclaimed.

“Yes, but almost never to the death.” I continued, “that’s strongly discouraged as there are fewer women than men among the dwarves.”

“Why is that?” Chessina asked.

“Harmon never discovered that,” I replied, “the dwarves are rather reticent about certain subjects, even to an honourary dwarf.”

“I don’t like the idea of you going off without me if there is a suggestion of foul play.” Chessina said, “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“If you did come it would offend the dwarves mightily.” I replied.

“In that case I will tag along behind and use mage eye to check up on things.” Chessina announced.

I had to admit, that did make me feel better. We settled down to sleep... eventually.

 

oOo

 

At the appointed hour Alvarek and Vesolmir knocked at the door to our chambers dressed in a simple and sombre manner, with their axes slung in the axe carrier, the dwarven equivalent of the scabbarded sword of a human noble. After the greeting ritual we set off for the duelling arena. The corridors we traversed were almost deserted and there was an early morning feel to them even though, being lesser ways, they weren’t lit by sunlight passing through crystal ducts, but by magical lanterns. I had decided against taking my staff, as I wasn’t refereeing in an official capacity, but as a private individual as a favour to a clansman of my friend Alvarek.

“Vesolmir, as I am to referee this duel, perhaps you would give me some details about what led up to it.”  I asked.

“It starts some years ago when I was courting my now wife Salvarusha,” Vesolmir began, “she is of great beauty and ancient bloodline and had many suitors including Babiarz. I was very fortunate to win her hand. Babiarz was extremely angry at being rejected and declared that she was too good for someone like me.”

“I should explain, Castamir, that the Veshol clan is very rich.” Said Alvarek. “Their holdings are some distance from here and they do not often visit the capital. They are not liked for several reasons, their support of the throne during the Goblin war being niggardly as well as tardy. They also have made no secret of their desire to see the throne pass to one of their clan. In addition, they tend to throw their weight around, and consider that their wealth makes them superior to all other clans.”

I had been going to describe them as ‘lovely people’, but I feared Vesolmir might not realise I was being sarcastic, so I settled for saying,

“They seem the type to give blood sucking lice a bad name.”

“Three days ago, Babiarz and some of his cronies turned up,” Vesolmir said, “and being rich layabouts with nothing better to do, started hanging around near the weaving rooms where Salvarusha works, and paying her over fulsome compliments when they saw her.”

I recalled that unlike many human women of high status, most dwarven women would revolt against sitting around doing very little other than appear decorative.

“Yesterday, Salvarusha told me about the attentions of Babiarz and his gang, and how they were upsetting her.” Said Vesolmir. “I went to Babiarz and told him to stay away from my wife, he belittled my lack of wealth, we exchanged words and a duel was arranged.”

“What gave you the idea that you suspect foul play?” I asked.

“There was something in the looks that were exchanged amongst them,” Alvarek replied, “It is just a hunch.”

 

oOo

 

We turned round a corner, and there were six dwarves blocking the corridor. They were all dressed sumptuously and held themselves with arrogant pride.

“Babiarz!” Vesolmir spat the word. “What are these others doing here spectators should be in the arena, there should be no-one but you and your second? And why are you here, not waiting in the arena as challenger?”

“You aren’t worthy of the arena, and the others are to make sure that you don’t run away from the duel, you coward. You will fight me here and now. And what is that... human doing here?” Babiarz must have practiced in front of a mirror to have that studied a sneer.

“As challenged party, it is my right to have the referee of my choice. He knows dwarven customs.” Replied Vesolmir.

“This is most irregular,” I said, “and will be reported to the king, but if you both agree I see no reason the duel should not take place here.”

As I mentioned the king, I saw glances between the cronies and wondered if this was to be a duel or we were to be murdered. I firmed up my connection to the tower and readied my spells.

 

“Back up you dwarves and give the duellists room.” I said, and the cronies, reluctantly, complied. Not outright murder then, but I must be alert for trickery.

“Very well, draw axes and begin.” I uttered the words I had heard before having watched a couple of dwarven duels. Babiarz pre-empted my words and began drawing his axe before I had finished speaking, but fortunately Vesolmir was fast and had his axe out before Babiarz could launch an attack.

Even though I had seen some dwarven duels, invariably fought with axes, the sheer speed with which they were wielded amazed me. Most humans think of axes as slow, clumsy weapons but dwarves show that this is not the case. The axes flashed towards the duellists and the blows were either dodged or caught haft against haft. This was the only sound bar the breathing of the combatants. As far as I could see, one of the tactics involved rapid changes of direction of the blows to come in at an unexpected direction. Mesmerising as the sight was, I was not really here to judge if a move was fair or not, not being versed in  axe combat, but to watch for treachery. Accordingly I kept most of my attention on Babiarz’s cronies.

 

As the duel continued Babiarz’s breathing became laboured. I doubted that he did manual labour, or even much axe practice. A quick glimpse of the duel showed me that Vesolmir seemed to be getting the upper hand. I caught a frantic glance from Babiarz towards the most extravagantly dressed of the cronies, one who bore some resemblance to him. The dwarf reached into his pocket and brought out a round smooth stone. Before he could throw it, I used the adhere spell to attach the stone to his fingers.

I thought that the plan was to throw the stone under Vesolmir’s feet, causing him to fall or at least lose his balance, and then he might be killed in a ‘dreadful accident’.

The dwarf holding the stone went to flick it towards Vesolmir and it remained stuck to his fingers. The look of surprise on his face gave way to panic when he found he couldn’t throw it at all and that it refused to leave his fingers no matter how often or how hard he tried. These frantic movements caught the attention of many, including Alvarek. Babiarz, slowing now, caught sight of the failed throw, and distracted, dropped his guard sufficiently for Vesolmir to hit his opponent squarely on the right thigh. With a cry of pain, Babiarz fell to the ground, bleeding copiously from his wound.

 

“Kill them, kill them all!” Shouted the prone man. His followers drew their axes, with the exception of the one who was still trying to remove the stone from his right hand, desperately trying to pry it from his fingers with main strength. I could have told him he was wasting his time, unless I told the spell to release, the only way to get the stone off would be to cut the flesh from his finger bones, and for some reason most people are loath to do that. Beside me Alvarek drew his axe doubtless preparing to sell his life dearly.

I cast still person on all the cronies, meaning they couldn’t move any voluntary muscles. Had I been holding my staff the crystal on it would have glowed white due to the simultaneous casting of spells.

“Alvarek, can you bind up that cur’s wound,” I said turning towards him, “I don’t want him dying of blood loss before he faces the King’s justice.”

I heard movement behind me, but before I could turn to face its source, I heard the sound of something hard being struck followed by something falling to the floor. Upon turning, I discovered that one of the cronies was lying crumpled on the floor with blood oozing from a wound on the back of his head, caused I thought by the rock lying next to him.

“I thought I needed to follow you,” came Chessina’s whispered voice.

“Thank you, my love,” I replied, “I always need you.”

 

“I am going to release the conscious among you from my magic to take you before the authorities for justice.” I growled being really annoyed at the treachery of these people. “And if any of you make any problems I will curse you into beardlessness.” I heard a sharp intake of breath from those dwarves able to do so, Alvarek and Vesolmir. To lose their beard was pretty much the worst thing that could be done to a dwarf.

“I didn’t know you knew how to do that Castamir,” Whispered Chessina.

“I don’t.” I whispered back. “I’m going to research how to do so, though. Not so much to threaten dwarves, but so I don’t have to shave.”

“You’re just lazy, Castamir.”

“Not in all things, love.”

 

“Right,” I said to the dwarves after cancelling the spell, “You with the stone, which won’t come off until I tell it to, and you there, help Babiarz to walk, and you other two, pick up the unconscious one. Alvarek can you lead us to the nearest guard post, while Vesolmir and I will watch these... persons.”

“I’ll keep a mage eye on them too.” Chessina’s whispered voice declared.

 

Our shambling procession had not been travelling long, when I sighted two dwarven guards, distinctive in their black clothing and black lacquered cuirass and helmet, walking with cat like tread in their boots of silence.

“Guards, help!” Babiarz shouted, “This human and his confederates attacked us and are trying to kidnap me!” On hearing this, the two guards drew their axes and advanced towards us.

While I had to give the cur Babiarz kudos for quick thinking, I had to put a stop to this.

“Guards, I am Towermaster Castamir, guest of his majesty.” I said, using a touch of voice magic to lend weight to my words. “Bring us before the King so we may have justice.”

“First put down your weapons.” Said one guard.

With great reluctance, Alvarek and Vesolmir did so. No dwarf likes having to relinquish their axes.

 

We were taken to the nearest guard post and placed in protective custody, while a messenger was sent to inform the king. In other words we were thrown in gaol. While Babiarz was being given better medical attention than the rough and ready first aid of Alvarek, Babiarz yelled out,

“This is the wound I received when those renegades viciously attacked me.”

“You mean the wound I gave you when your attempt to cheat during a duel failed.” Growled Vesolmir in response.

“Quiet!” Shouted the older of the guards. “You will have opportunity to speak later.”

To while away the time, I mused on how I would escape using the least amount of magic.

Shortly thereafter a large group of royal guards arrived, resplendent in polished steel helmets and enamelled cuirasses depicting the clan heraldry of the wearer, it being a signal honour to the clan as well as the individual, to be appointed one of the king’s bodyguard.

After various documents had been produced and signed, we were released from our cells and marched off surrounded by the royal guard, with four of their number carrying the wounded on stretchers, the one that Chessina had ‘rocked’ having regained what few wits he originally possessed.

The whole cavalcade, followed discreetly by Chessina, wended its way, accompanied by the intrigued glances of the early risers, to the royal apartments.

 

 

Thursday, May 1, 2025

the unwanted elves 8

 Simon wrote the last chapter yesterday; which he's been saying he's been doing for several days, but it took a bit more to wrap than he anticipated.  So it weighs in at an impressive 34 chapters and 90k words! 


Unwanted Elves

Chapter 8

 

We were going to have to kick our heels whilst Demonslicer was reforged, meanwhile we had been offered apartments suitable for visiting dignitaries. On my previous visits we had stayed with a friend of Harmon’s, a dwarven mage whose rooms were cosy and inviting. I thought I knew what to expect having seen the royal apartments when meeting with King Beremar, but these were positively sumptuous. The rooms we had been allocated were huge, broken only by sturdy pillars of rock that had been left to support the roof. Their surfaces covered with decorative carvings and scenes of dwarven life which were echoed in several hanging tapestries. The floors were covered with thick pile carpets woven in intricate patterns, complementing those of the brocade wall coverings.

“What beautiful decorations!” Exclaimed Chessina, rushing to examine the embroidery of the nearest tapestry, “and isn’t it warm. I did wonder, despite what you said that our rooms might be chilly.”

“That reminds me love,” I replied pointing, “those squat things standing proud of the wall can get very hot. They heat the room using hot water pumped up from deep below ground. Of course as dwarves like things to be decorative as well as functional they are enamelled.”

I was relieved to notice that the most of the furniture in the room was sized for people with longer legs than dwarves, more normal dwarven sized pieces were also provided.

Chessina preceded me into the next room which turned out to be our bed-chamber. I didn’t really get to notice much of the decoration, even of the bed curtains, as Chessina had definite ideas of our next order of business.

 

After attending to certain pressing needs, other needs became pressing and we discovered the luxurious bath room. The floor and walls were tiled and the centre was dominated by a large bath, carved from marble. Standing taps provided hot and cold water and radiators made the room comfortably warm. I showed Chessina the toilets in small cubicles.

“When you have finished, pull that lever and water rushes in to flush anything away.” I explained.

“I hope it doesn’t just go into the river as that would offend Silavara mightily.” Chessina replied. “Mind you with the number of people in the city the river would stink and I didn’t smell anything when we flew over it.”

“The outflow is treated by dwarven machinery which produces clean water,” I continued, “which goes back into the river, it also produces substances the dwarves use in alchemy and fertiliser, some of which goes to the dwarven fields, the remainder is sold. I don’t think the buyers have any idea where it comes from though.”

“How does the machinery work, Castamir?”

“Dwarven magic, which I don’t really understand.”

“Why not? I thought you understood magic, even though there are things you can’t do yet.”

“Dwarven magic is fundamentally different from the type we use. Where we mostly cast spells, dwarven magic is much more ritual based, often incorporating mechanical devices. Dwarves are reluctant to share their magical techniques, even to Dwarf Friends like Harmon.”

“Do the toilets in the Tower work the same way?”

“Not really. From what Harmon told me, the Tower is more like an organism and any waste produced inside is processed by the Tower itself and helps to sustain it.”

It was very pleasant to wash away the dirt of travel in hot water and fortunately the bath was big enough for both of us so I didn’t have to wait my turn. Just as fortunately, the floor had a drain as a fair amount of water ended up on the floor, what with one thing and another.

 

oOo

 

I had various appointments with the forgemaster who was remaking Demonslicer, because they wanted to use my blood to add one or two extra goodies to the weapon. Obviously, any wizard is chary about sharing his blood with anyone else, but that was why I was to attend in person; dwarves are quite as cautious, or indeed, paranoid, as wizards, and I was to see my blood used and any extra destroyed in front of me. I was happy with that.

Meanwhile, Chessina went to chat to the Princess Neveslava.

She returned in a state of high excitement.

“Castamir!” she said. “It is imperative that you cast whisper immediately so I can show you something without saying it out loud!”

I never deny my wife anything. Especially not when she speaks in that tone of voice.

I cast the spell.

“I know a part of Fishface’s name!” said Chessina.

“That’s amazing! How?” I asked.

“I was chatting with the princess – poor thing, she is from a family considered rather low for being provincial, though wealthy, they mine salt, which is vital, but it seems dwarves also have snobbery,” said Chessina. I clamped down on thoughts of impatience, as I knew that she would get to the point in her own good time. And having established good relations with the princess, who had resented Chessina at first, was important.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” I said, cynically.

“Well, her family have ties to Agarak,” said Chessina. “And she had a book on the Tale of Djehuty. And before you mention that we read it in the Royal Library in Adalsburg, this one mentioned the demonic father of Sekhemef. And though it was mangled, I had one of those moments when I knew how to shed the Agarakian construction of it and I could feel... almost taste,” she added, with a grimace, “The foul sense of Fishface. Now, I don’t know if I ever told you what he was known in the Abyss?”

“Actually, dear, you never did,” I said, mildly. The name by which he was known would have the power to summon him, but would not, of itself, have much power over him, if it was a fraction of what his name was. I knew enough to know that a demon adds to his name over his existence. Thus a demon known as Ashrak by one culture, and Bazarkee to another might well be Ashrakabasarkee or more, at either end. And don’t worry; you’re not likely to meet a demon whose name means either ‘Poo face’ or ‘Fat arse’ which is why I chose those Abyssal words – in approximate translation – unless he is one of the lesser demons so named by his master.

“Well, I knew him as Lord Bel-lez,” said Chessina. “But in the story book, he was called, ‘Lord Sekanub’ and I had one of those moments of knowledge... you know, love.”

I knew. Arcana, bless her, cheated outrageously sometimes.

“So what did you know, my dear?” I asked.

“An early part of his name is Sekkanweb,” said Chessina, in triumph. She was almost vibrating.

“Are you sure that the spell will be enough to prevent him hearing?” I asked, “Should I cast a protective circle?”

“There’s no need, master. Fishface will be in his egg for years.” Chessina said with certainty.

“Egg?” I queried.

“That’s the closest translation I could come up with. A demon would say that we egged him.” Said Chessina, “They are crystal... wombs, I suppose you could say, that a demon’s... essence returns to if their body is destroyed on another plane as his was in the Halls of Waiting. They stay inside for about three years and I’m told the process of regrowth is very painful. Those inside can see and communicate but only very close to. While Fishface was distracted Arcana retrieved my egg and used it to help make my new body. That’s why I can still have horns and a tail and certain demonic abilities.”  

“Do you recall that the pact with Agravar had the signature of his patron demon, who we knew to be Fishface as Itssek?” I asked.

“Yes, so that could be connected as Itsekkanweb as demons rarely repeat syllables.”  Chessina answered. “I also had a nightmare, last night.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I protested. “You could have woken me up.”

“I didn’t want to worry you.” Chessina said soothingly, “But the thing is, I remembered what the guardian shouted out when it summoned Fishface ‘Bellezeen’, the –een coming from my former name Shareen which because it happened recently, would probably be at the end of his name. So we have ‘Itsekkanwebbelleseen’. That’s seven syllables.”

I hugged Chessina in joy.

 

oOo

 

I went on my way to my appointment at the forge. A weapons forge is much the same whether it is human or dwarven, and hardly needs description. The forge fire runs day and night, whilst complex weaponry is forged, the bellows plied by sweating apprentices stripped to the waist, whilst metal is heated, hammered on an anvil, quenched, and the whole process done over for the necessary number of times. Special mud is used to place on some blades so they heat and quench slower, to make patterns in the steel when it is washed away, which may be used to place simple patterns for decoration or runes of power, which might also be carven into the surface of the finished blade, laid upon the hilt, or tang.

As I entered the forge the first thing that hit me was a wave of heat. This brought with it a cacophony of smells. The first I noticed was hot metal, interspersed with the sweat of those working it. The forge was very noisy, it seemed as though I was inside some gigantic bell. There were various tones of hammers striking metal, like a raucous orchestra. The ringing sound of hammers against cold metal, and the slightly duller sound where the metal was glowing hot. Added to this was the roaring of bellows like a chorus of dragons accompanying the discordant music of hammers.

The weapons master greeted me with a grunt and a nod.

I could see he was going to be a bundle of laughs.

“Right, I need your blood for the quenching,” the forgemaster said peremptorily. “And don’t go using any fancy spells and incantations to open up your right palm for the bleeding,” grunted Thebroval, the weapons master, He was a dour fellow, even for a dwarf, with flaming red hair and beard, which he wore divided in two and plaited back together down his back, which made sense in the light of not wanting to get it set alight. He went on, “You can use this silver knife, it’s designed for ritual blood-taking.”

“Silver doesn’t take much of an edge,” I protested. I’m not a coward. I just don’t like pain.

He spat into his forge, which hissed.

“Magical, ritual silver knife,” he also hissed. “Do keep up. And don’t whine.”

I didn’t think I had.

I felt, briefly, like a small boy in my first year’s apprenticeship.

“I’m concerned about drawing enough blood,” I said, trying to sound insouciant.

“I’ll tell you if it isn’t,” he grunted. “You need to fill two of these.”

He produced two small silver goblets.

Fortunately they were smaller than the goblets used for the dwarven spiritous liquour of choice, called Khirolka, and reputedly strong enough to knock grown men out with one swallow, and being wood alcohol, to kill any human if they finish the glass.

I could do that.

“Does it have to be my right palm?” I asked.

“Unless you’re left-handed,” he said.

Riiiiiight.

“And what are you doing with my blood?” I asked.

“Finally, the sensible questions,” said Thebroval. “I’m going to use one of the goblets to soak a pale opal, and the rest in the quenching of the blade. When you concentrate on imagining it in your hand, it will be in your hand, and any magics you cast through the opal as a focus will be magnified.”

“Master Thebroval, I am impressed,” I said.

I was.

He nodded curtly.

“Come back in forty-seven hours as you humans count them, and be prepared to bleed. Eat a hearty meal before then and drink only pure water between now and then,” he said. “I want to work out the best way to add the extra material component to the forging.”

“Would knowing parts of the demon’s name also help?” I asked, meekly.

“Ye gods! Are you only now asking that? Of course it would,” he declared. Or rather, bellowed.  “I can inscribe them on the core of the blade and embed them deep. Make it seventy hours, and write down the cursed name-parts. I don’t want you speaking such filth out loud.”

“I have a demon and one I conjecture is his half-demonic son to deal with,” I said. “Would it be a problem to use both?”

“The more the merrier,” said Thebroval.

I wrote down Sekhemef’s name as well as the seven syllables Chessina had managed to discover about Fishface. I had had one of those feelings about him, but if Chessina felt his essence in the name she found for Sekhemef’s father, that almost confirmed it. After a brief hesitation, I added what Chessina knew of the name of the demon we referred to as ‘Pointy-teeth,’ who had caused so much trouble in Adalsburg.

So, having three days in which to kick my heels, I went exploring. To avoid the problems I’d had when Harmon and I first visited the dwarven capital I took a guide, my friend Alvarek. What I hadn’t known on my first visit was that the city was so large there were a network of magical gates to facilitate travel within the city. This led to me becoming completely lost and trying to seek help with my, at the time limited command of dwarvish. A young dwarven stonecutter had taken pity on me and returned me to Harmon. That dwarf was Alvarek, now my great friend.

My first excursion was to visit the marvellous water-powered dwarven automatic looms. Alvarek was accompanied by his wife Meghimira who was very keen to show me the looms as she was a weaver of great skill. Also accompanying us was Silavara. As she explained, “Although I wear homespun’s most of the time, that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t be interested in seeing the gorgeous dwarven fabrics.”

As we approached the chamber where the looms were located I could feel a low rumble through the floor. I was not therefore quite as surprised by the noise when Meghimira opened the door. Although not as loud as the forge the comotion of thumps, bangs, clanks and clicks would make normal speech difficult. I could see more than a dozen machines that were activated by whirling overhead shafts and belts running from these to the looms themselves. Heddles thumped up and down and shuttles whizzed back and forth with no intervention from human, or indeed dwarven hands. Two dwarven women were working on the one loom that was at rest. They were singing as they worked, and fairly loudly as I could hear them over the din.

 

Clickety clackety thunk

The loom is saying all day

Clickety clackety thunk

Weaving the fabric so gay

Clickety clackety thunk

My head hurts as if I were drunk

Pity the weavers a pulling their levers

To clickety clackety thunk

 

A dwarven woman with an air of authority came forward and smiled at Meghimira.

Meghimira introduced us to Loom-mistress Perzamira, a dwarven lady of middle years with no beard dressed in leather garments with nothing dangling that might catch in machinery. Her hair was confined under a tight cap. Meghimira and Alvarek had inspected our garments with great care before leaving our apartments to avoid problems with the looms. Indeed Alvarek had confined his beard in a kind of pouch which he tucked in his clothing.

“This is why the weavers working on the Stroynielv looms are women.” Alvarek explained. “A man’s beard could be ripped out by the roots if it got caught.” He shuddered at the thought. I knew that for a dwarf, such a fate was worse than death.

“Thank you for taking the time to indulge our curiosity, Loom-mistress,” I said, speaking somewhat louder than usual. “I have missed seeing the looms on my previous visits. I have never seen such complex machinery.” This was obviously the right thing to say, as Perzamira beamed with pleasure.

“These looms can produce large quantities of very intricately patterned cloth, which merchants flock here to buy.” Perzamira said, with obvious pride. “They form a large part of our income.”

“I don’t want to monopolise your valuable time, Loom-mistress, so we will leave you to your work.” I said, bowing in the correct fashion. Truth to tell, I was glad to get out of the noise, and judging by her expression, Silavara was too. As neither Harmon nor I had encountered deaf dwarves, their ears must be more robust than humans’.