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Of Dwarkind, each and every one
So dig your mines, harden your hands
Mind your trades, work your lands
Dwar’s bounty waits just out of sight
For the faithful in labors right.
“We have many other stories and proverbs, parables and aphorisms. Some of the ones about warfare and revenge have been expanded upon until they are a way of life, and you get groups of dwarves like the Wheel of Fire. We in the Chartered Company like to think of our own firm as a Golden Tree, of a sort. I just hope the Partners take better care of it than Dwar’s sons did.”
Auron thought of Djer’s words until he fell asleep, and then at dawn they came to the Delvings at Waterfall Mountain.
Auron got a prime view from Djer’s cart. Though the barge pulled for the landing on the south bank, where the “iron road” Djer spoke of would haul the cargoes destined to go upriver past the falls along the quivers of rails, he still saw the mountain when the barge turned for the docks. A waterfall poured down on either side of it: a great rock slope that divided the wall of water cascading from above, the last of the six falls of the Falnges. Auron saw galleries and balconies, dozens of them, cut into the side of the rock, some hardly more than an arm’s length from the falling water to either side. A tower stood atop the mountain—or perhaps the top of the mountain was shaped into a tower—with sculpted walls that narrowed to a bell shape, red-and-gold pennants fluttering from the peak.
Auron had seen some towns of men, but this topped even the mind-pictures of distant cities he had received from his parents.
“How will we get there?” Auron said. “Can a boat make it through that boiling water?”
Djer laughed. “There’s a landing at the upper part of the mountain, but it’s a brave captain who tries for it, with the current running the way it does. We’ll get there by going underground. Just a moment—I’ve got to sign over my pack train to the warehousers.”
Auron caused a stir at the gates as he padded up to the underground entrance at Djer’s side. The guards at the gates, clad in golden mail under red capes, red leather boots set solidly on the doorstep, and layers of chain and woven cord shielding their eyes, crossed their pikes as the unusual pair approached. The gates were covered by curtains of some kind of thick material, emblazoned with the many-faceted diamond design of the Diadem.
“Tradesdwarf, you know that’s a dragon,” one of the door wardens said. Auron now knew Dwarvish well enough to comprehend the talk.
“I didn’t think it was a dog. I’ve sent a messenger to the Partners. I’m Djer, on Sekyw’s staff, just returned from the northlands. There will be a pass for me, I expect.”
One of the wardens pulled aside the curtain and rapped on the door of iron. He spoke through a sliding slot to someone within.
“You’re to wait. Sekyw is coming for you,” the warden said, sticking forward his silver-sparkled beard as if it were a weapon to keep them from the door.
“Hmmph,” Djer said, and walked over to a stool set under a canopy.
They were offered no food or drink, and sat and watched other Company dwarves pass in and out of the gates. Some stopped and gaped at Auron, but most passed the pair with nothing more than a glance from mask-shuttered eyes.
Until one dwarf, an exceptionally stout one with a gold-dusted beard that not only extended down from his chin but out from the sides, as well—so that it seemed to Auron that he held a hairy shield under his nose—came from the iron door with a nod toward Djer. The tradesdwarf stood up and took his hat in his hands, wringing it.
“My apologies for keeping you waiting, Djer,” Sekyw said, glancing at two sheets of paper, one with many lines of closely written columns and the other nearly empty save for a few bare lines. “I hold in my hands two items: a report of your summer’s trade in the northlands that is most unsatisfactory, and some wild proposition involving a dragon. We’re going to discuss both before seeing a Partner, so which shall it be first?”
“The dragon and I are weary with travel. Might we take some refreshment in a warm hall?”
“First I want to hear why you had such a poor season up north,” Sekyw said, inspecting the paper, then its blank other side, turning the sheet back and forth as if expecting something else to have appeared there while they talked.
“Some villages refused to even trade with me. They said that they would only buy human goods. I picked up a little money doing some blacksmithing and ironmongery—”
“Yes, yes, I’ve heard stories of dwarvish prejudice before. A good tradesdwarf wins through nevertheless. I had a mind to revoke your charter, even after I read this. What are you trying to pull off here, Djer? Hunt up some oversize lizard and call it a dragon?”
Auron liked Djer, and couldn’t stand to see him upbraided any more. “Lizards don’t talk,” he said, in his best Dwarvish.
“I wasn’t speaking—,” Sekyw said, then caught himself. “I beg your pardon, uh, young drake.”
“His name is Auron. Auron, this is my superior, Sekyw. Auron seeks passage eastward. I thought we might help him, and he us.”
“I’ve never seen a dragon up close, but I’ve been told their scales gleam like polished metal.”
“He’s a gray. That’s what allows us to use him in this capacity—he has no appetite for gold.”
“A dragon that doesn’t eat gold? Preposterous.”
