Gilthas stepped forward and bowed deeply, with sincere respect. “High King,” he said speaking flawless Dwarvish, a language he had learned from his father. “I am honored to meet you at last. I know you do not like to leave your home beneath the mountain. Your journey was a long one and perilous, as are all journeys made in the world during these dark times. I thank you for making the journey, for undertaking to meet me here this day to close and formally seal our agreement.”
The high king nodded his head, tugging on his beard, a sign that he was pleased with the words. The fact that the elf spoke Dwarvish had already impressed Tarn. Gilthas had been right.
The dwarf king had heard stories of the elf king’s weak and indecisive nature. But Tarn had learned over the years that it was never wise to judge a man until, as the dwarves would say, you had seen the color of his beard.
“The journey was pleasant. It is good to breathe the air above the ground for a change,” Tarn replied. “And now, let us get down to business.” He looked at Gilthas shrewdly. “I know how you elves love to palaver. I believe that we can dispense with the niceties.”
“I am part human,” Gilthas replied with a smile. “The impatient part, or so they tell me. I must be back in Qualinost before tomorrow’s dawning. Therefore I will begin. This matter has been under negotiation for a month. We know where we stand, I believe? Nothing has changed?”
“Nothing has changed with us,” said Tarn. “Has anything changed with you?”
“No, it has not. We are in agreement then.” Gilthas dropped the formal tone. “You have refused to accept any payment, sir. I would not permit this, but that I know there is not wealth enough in all of Qualinesti to compensate you and your people for what you are doing. I know the risks that you run. I know that this agreement has caused controversy among your people. I guess that it has even threatened your rule. And I can give you nothing in return except for our thanks—our eternal and undying thanks.”
“Nay, lad,” said Tarn, flushing in embarrassment. Dwarves dislike being praised. “What I do will bring good to my people as well as yours. Not all of them can see that at this point, but they will. Too long we have lived hidden away from the world beneath the mountain. The notion came to me when civil war erupted in Thorbardin, that we dwarves might well kill each other off and who would ever know? Who would grieve for us? None in this world. The caverns of Thorbardin might fall silent in death, darkness overtake us, and there would be none to speak a word to fill that silence, none to light a lamp. The shadows would close over us, and we would be forgotten.
“I determined I would not allow that to happen. We dwarves would return to the world. The world would enter Thorbardin. Of course,” Tarn said, with a wink and sip of dwarf spirits, “I could not thrust such change upon my people overnight. It has taken me long years to bring them around to my way of thinking, and even then many are still wagging their beards and stamping their feet over it. But we are doing the right thing. Of that I am convinced. We have already started work on the tunnels,” he added complacently.
“Have you? Before the papers were signed?” Gilthas asked amazed.
Tarn took a long gulp, belched contentedly, and grinned.
“Bah! What are papers? What are signatures? Give me your hand, King Gilthas. That will seal our bargain.”
“I give you my hand, King Tarn, and I am honored to do so,”
Gilthas replied, deeply touched. “Is there any point on which I can reassure you? Do you have any questions to ask of me?”
“Just one, lad,” said Tarn, putting down his mug and wiping his chin with his sleeve. “Some of the thanes, most notably the Neidar—a suspicious lot if I do say so—have said repeatedly that if we allow elves to enter Thorbardin, they will turn on us and seize our realm and make it their new home. You and I know that will not happen,” Tarn added, raising his hand to forestall Gilthas’s quick protest, “but what would you say to my people to convince them that this tragedy would not come about?”
“I would ask the thanes of the Neidar,” said Gilthas, smiling, “if they would build their homes in trees. What would be their answer, do you think, sir?”
“Hah, hah! They would as soon think of hanging themselves by their beards,” Tarn said, chuckling.
“Then, by the same token, we elves would as soon think of hanging ourselves by our ears as to live in a hole in the ground. No insult to Thorbardin intended,” Gilthas added politely.
“None taken, lad. I will tell the Neidar exactly what you have said. That should blow the foam off their ale!” Tarn continued to chuckle.
“To speak more clearly, I vow on my honor and my life that the Qualinesti. will use the tunnels only for the purpose of removing those in peril from the dragon’s wrath. We have made arrangements with the Plains people to shelter the refugees until such time as we can welcome them back to their own homeland.”
“May that day be quick to dawn,” said Tarn gravely, no longer laughing. He regarded Gilthas intently. “I would ask why you do not send your refugees to the land of your cousins, the realm of Silvanesti, but I hear that it is closed and barred to you. The elves there have placed some sort of magical fortress around it.”
“The forces of Alhana Starbreeze continue to try to find some way to enter the shield,” Gilthas said. “We must hope that they will eventually find a way, not only for our sakes, but for the sake of our cousins, as well. How long do you believe the work will take for the tunnel to reach Qualinost?”
“ A fortnight, not more,” said Tarn easily.
“ A fortnight, sir! To dig a tunnel over sixty-five miles through solid rock? I know the dwarves are master stonecutters,” Gilthas said, “but I must confess that this astounds me.”
“As I said, we had already started working. And we have help,” said Tarn. “Have you ever heard of the Urkhan? No? I’m not surprised. Few outsiders know anything about them. The Urkhan are gigantic worms that eat rock. We harness them up, and they gnaw through granite as if it were fresh-baked bread. Who do you think built the thousands of miles of tunnels in Thorbardin?” Tarn grinned. “The Urkhan, of course. The worm does all the work, and we dwarves take all the credit!”
Gilthas expressed his admiration for the remarkable worms and listened politely to a discussion of the Urkhan’s habits, its docile nature, and what happened to the rock after it passed through the worm’s system.
“But enough of this. Would you like to see them in action?”
Tarn asked suddenly.
“I would, sir,” Gilthas said, “but perhaps some other time. As I mentioned earlier, I must return to Qualinost by morning light—”
“You shall, lad, you shall,” the dwarf replied, grinning hugely.
“Watch this.” He stomped his booted foot twice on the floor.
A momentary pause and then two thumps resonated loudly, coming from the ground.
Gilthas looked at Kerian, who was looking angered and alarmed. Angry that she had not thought to investigate the strange rumblings, alarmed because, if this was a trap, they had just fallen neatly into it.
Tarn laughed loudly at their discomfiture.
“The Urkhan!” he said by way of explanation. “They’re right beneath us!”
“Here? Is that true?” Gilthas gasped. “They have come so far? I know that I felt the ground shake—”
Tarn was nodding his head, his beard wagging. “And we have gone farther. Would you come below?”
Gilthas looked at his wife. “In all the rest of Qualinesti I am king, but the Lioness is in charge here,” he said, smiling. “What do you say, madam? Shall we go see these wonderful worms?”
Kerian made no objection, although this unforeseen turn of events had made her wary. She said nothing outright that might offend the dwarves, but Gilthas noted that every time she encountered one of her Wilder elves, she gave him a signal with either a look, a tilt of the head, or a slight gesture of her hand. The elves disappeared, but Gilthas guessed that they had not gone far, were watching and waiting, their hands on their weapons.