Baran’s words remained unvoiced, for in that moment there came a commotion from the outer hall, and shouting sounded, muffled by the chamber door: “Black Kalgalath, my Lord!” The door slammed open, and a sandy-haired Dwarf burst in. “DelfLord Baran, Black Kalgalath is come upon us, and he slays Châkka without!”
A healer was called as Dorni told his tale, the young Châk snuffling blood, his voice overloud, eardrums bursted by the Drake’s awful roar. Scouts were dispatched, Thork among them, to look upon the vale, to confirm the Dragon’s whereabouts, to see whether any Châkka had survived. They returned grim-faced, reporting that Black Kalgalath strutted in the valley, or winged upward to sit upon nearby peaks, roaring thunderous challenges; and of Dokan’s party, none lived.
And even as this shattering account came unto the DelfLord, another messenger stepped into the throne room, bearing word that a bloody four-handed duel had been fought between Riders and Châkka warriors, and that two Men and a Châk were now dead, and a second Châk lay severely wounded and was not expected to live.
Scowling, Aranor and Gannor stalked into the throne room, taking up seats placed there for them. Ruric had been summoned as well, and he took up a stance behind the Vanadurin King, his own face impassive. Baran sat upon the throne, the DelfLord’s visage grim, while Thork stood at Baran’s side. Except for these five, the chamber was empty.
Baran was first to speak: “King Aranor, I have granted you and your Men sanctuary, yet you repay me by murdering Châkka warriors-”
“Murder?” burst out Gannor, his face dark with anger. “That’s a Dwarven lie!”
Thork’s hand jumped to his axe, and he stepped forward, flushing scarlet with wrath.
Gannor leapt to his feet, drawing his saber, and this in turn brought Aranor and Baran to their feet, each reaching for their weapons.
Instantly, Ruric stepped between, thrusting out his empty hands as if to press ’gainst both onslaughts. “By Adon,” he cried, “would ye start a bloodbath?”
Shaking with rage, Baran managed to step hindward, reaching out and drawing Thork with him.
Reluctantly, Aranor sat down, and at last, Gannor, too, flung himself into his own seat.
But Ruric remained standing between. “My Lords, I would speak.” At an angry nod from Aranor, Ruric continued: “Though I do ha’e an opinion, I be not here to lay blame, and so my thoughts on this matter will remain unvoiced. Yet heed! This duel ha’ its roots in both sides, and was driven by pride and by insulted honor. By our own law, King Aranor, an affair of honor cannot be meddled wi-”
“Not true, Armsmaster,” interrupted the Vanadurin King. “A stay of combat can be ordered until the facts are known by a court of peers.”
“Aye, Lord,” responded Ruric, “that be true. Yet should the facts bear out that honor be breached, then satisfaction be due.”
In a seeming shift of focus, Ruric turned to DelfLord Baran. “I would ask our host what be the way o’ the Dwarves in matters of honor.”
Gannor snorted and muttered under his breath, “Dwarven honor, pah!”
Again Thork’s face flushed in anger, and the knuckles of the hand griping his axe grew white. Yet he held himself in check and spat out an answer: “When it comes to honor, none stand higher than the Châkka.”
“What be your point, Man Ruric?” asked Baran.
“Just this, DelfLord,” responded the Armsmaster. “Sanctuary or no, for the most part our laws prevent us from interfering wi’ the honor of individuals. All that any may plea for be the rule o’ reason, which at times calls for judicious self-control on the part o’ the injured party. And if yer laws be the same, should it come down to an affair o’ honor, if the insult be too great for the individual to bear, then duels will be fought, and there will be bloodshed ’twixt our two Folk.”
Baran sat brooding for a moment. “Then, Man Ruric, duels will be fought, for our laws in this matter are much the same as yours, and Châkka honor, too, must be preserved.”
Aranor cleared his throat. “I suggest, DelfLord, that we Vanadurin go forth from this stone hole as soon as may be, as soon as Black Kalgalath no longer raids in this vicinity, for as long as the Drake harasses this region, we will be your unwilling guests.”
After the Men had departed, Thork turned to Baran. “Brother, I note that you did not tell the Riders that Black Kalgalath raided this very dawn, this time slaying Châkka.”
“Nay, Thork, I did not,” answered the DelfLord. “I know not whether such news can be used by the looting thieves to our disadvantage. Until I know that, I will not speak of it to them.”
The next day, as reported by Dwarven scouts standing within the secret portal, again Black Kalgalath rampaged within the vale, shouting great brazen roars from atop nearby peaks, rending soil from the floor of the valley, tossing aside mutilated corpses, sending the flocks of scavenger birds fleeing in panic. At last, the Drake took to wing, yet Baran ordered that no one venture outside to retrieve the slain Châkka, for none knew whether Black Kalgalath had truly departed.
And again the blood of outraged honor was spilled within the Dwarvenholt, as duels were fought between Dwarves and Men. This time eight died: five Vanadurin and three Châkka.
On the following day a Council of Chief Captains was called to consider these twin dilemmas: a Dragon without, and Men within.
When all had gathered, Baran stood. “We are met here to consider our course of action. Black Kalgalath has chosen to fall upon this Châkkaholt-why? I cannot say. Our main gate lies buried under countless tons of stone. Yet, while the Drake raids, we cannot uncover it.
“Too, because of the Dragon, I have granted sanctuary to the Riders-”
“And they repay our generosity by slaying our kindred!” shouted Bolk, slamming his fist to the table, his face red with fury. An angry rumble of agreement rose up from the assembled Captains. “By Adon, I said that no good would come of letting a pack of thieves-”
“Silence!” roared Baran, his own face dark with rage. “What is done, is done. I want no rehash of arguments made days agone.”
Quiet fell within the chamber, though it was plain to see that Bolk was about to choke upon ire, and sullen anger smoldered within the eyes of other Châkka as well.
“Let not these. . Men. . lead us into pointless quarrels,” growled Baran, “for we are not here to squabble among ourselves. Instead we gather to resolve problems, not to create new ones, nor to revive old ones.” Baran’s eye swept across the assembly, and many Captains looked down in shame rather than to meet the gaze of their DelfLord.
“As I was saying,” continued Baran, his voice level, “we are met to consider what to do about the buried gate, about Black Kalgalath, and about the Men. I seek your advice.”
After a short silence, a grey-haired Châk stood and was recognized. It was Fendor Stonelegs, Masterdelver. “My Lord, I would consider what to do about the Men. It is plain to see that Honor demands that they remain in our sanctuary for as long as the Drake raids. Only a great wrongdoing upon their part would lead to us casting them out in the face of Black Kalgalath, and these duels are private affairs, and not to be meddled with.
“Even so, should we wish to eject the Riders, we could lead them to the hidden north gate and out”-an uneasy stir ran ’round the table-“but that would reveal a secret long held, one better kept unto ourselves. Yet heed, the same is true of the east, west, and south gates. . true of any gate but the main one.
“This then is my proposaclass="underline" that we drive side passages at the main gate, postern passages, as it were. This will take some time to accomplish, and mayhap Black Kalgalath will lose interest and abandon these raids ere we are finished. But raids or not, postern passages will allow us to begin the task of digging out the main gate, for the side tunnels will allow us access whereby we may clear the rubble, yet will provide nearby escape routes should the Drake return.