Page 210 of Of Empires and Dust

The problem, Erdhardt realised, was the Lorians were having a drunken brawl. But Dahlen wasn’t trained to brawl. There was no wasted energy. Every movement was as clean and efficient as it was brutal and devastating. The man was trained to kill.

Another fist soared towards the side of Dahlen’s head, and he twisted, leaned back, and clasped his hands at the side of the woman’s face as she stumbled off balance. He pushed forwards and rammed her face into an approaching fist. Erdhardt couldn’t tell if the resulting spray of blood had come from knuckles breaking teeth or teeth tearing into the man’s hand.

Everything stopped when a horn blared. Once, then a second time. The entire tavern silenced in an instant. Chests heaved and sweat rolled until finally a third horn bellowed.

Dahlen spun and roared orders. He grabbed the Lorian who had begun the fight and hauled him to his feet.

The man’s fingers looked like a tree branch with shoots going in all directions, and blood streamed down his wrist.

“Get your soldiers to the wall.” The man’s head lolled, but Dahlen lifted it. “If I hear word of a single man or woman among your number not fighting, I will personally put their head on a block come the rising sun. And Iwillbe the one who swings the blade. Do you understand?”

The man nodded, his good hand holding the wrist of his shattered one.

Dahlen gripped Erdhardt’s shoulder. “You ready to give this place one more day?”

Chapter 46

Blood of the Bersekeer

18thDay of the Blood Moon

Durakdur – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom

Kira steppedout from the dark alley and onto one of the many walkways that overlooked the great waterfall of Durakdur. She moved through the crowd of dwarves and rested her hand on the parapet, allowing herself just a moment to admire the beauty as the droplets refracted the blue-green light of the Heraya’s Ward lanterns. Above, awhooshsounded as a Wind Runner shot from one tunnel to the next. The Wind Runners Guild had sided with Kira and abandoned the Freehold cities after Hoffnar took power, but reports said Hoffnar had recruited Alamants in an effort to keep the Wind Runners operational. Many had already died in the resulting crashes, but some of the Alamants were slowly learning their way.

“I don’t like this.” Vikmar moved to stand beside Kira, pretending to look out over the city. She had recently appointedhim as the new High Commander of her Queensguard in Mirlak’s place, and he had vehemently opposed the notion of Kira entering Durakdur whatsoever.

“I don’t require you to like it. I require you to keep me alive.”

“And you’re not making that easy.”

“If it were easy, anyone could do it.” Kira gave the dwarf a smile, receiving a blank stare in return. Vikmar had always been a serious dwarf with very little room for a sense of humour, but he was a fine warrior and over the years he had grown very close to Mirlak.

Mirlak had been more than the commander of Kira’s Queensguard. He had been her friend, and she missed him dearly. She supposed having Vikmar close meant Mirlak wasn’t entirely gone.

“May the fires of Hafaesir’s forge keep you warm, old friend. I may join you shortly,” she whispered. Kira spotted Erani and Ahktar stepping from an alley on the opposite side of the street. She met her sister’s gaze only for a moment, and then Erani moved on.

Kira inclined her head, and she and Vikmar followed Erani and Ahktar, staying thirty or so paces behind. She pulled her hood tighter, keeping her head down. Kira hated the idea of wearing a hood when trying to keep attention from herself. People only wore hoods when they wished to conceal their identities; it was much more practical to hide in plain sight. But the sight of her shaved head would draw more attention than any hood.

Ahead, Erani stopped by a staircase that led to a higher level, two statues framing the bottom step.

“Why has she stopped?” Vikmar whispered.

It only took a moment for Kira to understand why. A dwarf in crimson and gold robes stood atop a podium opposite the staircase, arms wide, preaching to a throng of dwarves gatheredaround him. “The time is now, brothers and sisters of Hafaesir. The Smith has forged our path in blood and steel. He calls us to be his hammer, to be his vengeance! Too long have we been forced to hide from the sun’s light. This mountain is our home, and so it will forever be, but so too are we destined for more. No longer will the dwarves of Lodhar stand idly by while the powers of this continent brandish their will as they please. Look to the dwarves of Kolmir, slaughtered by the Lorians upon their ascension. The dwarves of Mount Helmund, butchered in the War of Flowers. Our kin who settled in the Wolfpine Ridge, burned alive by the elves during the Blodvar for aiding the Jotnar. Our kind are always the casualties in the wars of other races. No longer. This time we will stake a claim ourselves, and we will show Epheria what it means to be dwarven!”

The crowd erupted in a chorus of cheers, and even many of those walking past stopped to add a voice.

“He’s convincing.” Kira would have liked nothing more than to climb up onto that podium and pull the dwarf’s intestines out through his mouth, but that might have caused a scene.

For some reason, hearing the preacher made everything so much worse. No longer could she imagine that those dwarves of Durakdur who followed Hoffnar did so because they were honourless traitors. They did so because Hoffnar was offering them something Kira herself might have been swayed by if she were a decade younger and a decade less wise.

“It’s best not to linger any longer than we have to.” Kira could tell that Vikmar had to actively stop himself from adding the words ‘my queen’. Kira nodded.

Vikmar followed her through the crowd as the preacher continued, the roar of the waterfall drowning him out once she got far enough away.

Kira led Vikmar along the walkway and down a set of staircases that led to the lower levels, Erani and Ahktar followingclose behind in the crowd. The lower levels of Durakdur were just as cramped as those closer to the centre and near the Heart. Much of the lower section was residential with a mix of taverns and shops, with tunnels leading deeper into the mountain. Quedahar they called it, and the dwarves who lived in this quarter of the city were often those who worked the mines, the refineries, and the forges that lay even deeper still. They were the backbone of the dwarven world, the cogs that kept everything turning. There was no greater call than that of the stone and all that lay within it.

“Not far,” Kira said, gesturing to an alley up ahead. “What do you think of what the preacher said?”

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