Inferno Volume 2 - Guy Haley Read online

  ‘Bertgilda gasped. Upon the counter were eight of the most exquisite watergems the craftsman had ever seen. From each one shone the light of a different sun on a different sea. It takes a lot to surprise a longbeard such as he, but the craftsman was dumbstruck. This was a king’s fortune, his ransom, his estates, fortress, armies and more.

  ‘“Where did you get these?” he asked.

  ‘“My beloved gave them me, and swore she would not be wed until they had a setting fit for their beauty,” said the aelf. “I wish them placed into a necklace of purest moonsilver. It is my bride price for the match, so I am willing to pay well for your efforts. How much for your best work?”

  ‘Ordinarily this question would have offended, for a duardin always does his best work, but the craftsman was so shocked that he blurted out a price rather than the threat of grudge-making. He had not taken leave of his wits completely, and the price was high.

  ‘“Do this for me within the week, and I shall double it,” said the aelf.

  ‘“Half now,” said the craftsman, who was no fool.

  ‘“I carry no coin. You shall have all when complete,” said the aelf.

  ‘It goes against every instinct of a duardin to take work without pay, but these gems were of such high quality that surely the aelf had the money. No one less than a king could possess such wonders. Mayhap that should have given the craftsman pause, but greed ever was the curse of our kind. Gold is our greatest weakness.

  ‘“Very well,” he said. “Double. In a week.”

  ‘The aelf nodded.

  ‘“Before you leave,” said the craftsman, “what is your name, for my ledger of works?”

  ‘The aelf paused before speaking. “You do not require my name. My entrusting to you of the gemstones is my bond. I will return in a week.”

  ‘The aelf said no more, and departed. This time,’ said Stonbrak, ‘he used the door.’

  ‘The craftsman laboured long hours over that necklace, my cousin as his helper. Bertgilda told me that twice he made the mounts for the gems, twice he melted down the moonsilver and began again. The cost of the materials alone was enough to beggar him, and he sought the money from the lenders of the Granite Brotherhood. A foolish move for anyone who is not absolutely certain of riches to pay them back, but our craftsman was sure.’

  Stonbrak paused for a drink. The wind probed the shutters, whistled three times and withdrew, disappointed it could find no way in.

  ‘Weary from many days’ sleepless toil, the craftsman removed the lenses from his eyes and sighed with satisfaction,’ said Stonbrak. ‘Truly, this was his greatest work. The necklace was the finest he had ever made. Those who saw it compared it favourably with the greatest works of the Age of Myth, and that was only if they could speak through their tears of joy. When I asked Bertgilda to describe it, she could not, but cried and told me it was too beautiful to put into words.

  ‘The week passed. Then another. The craftsman’s delight turned to fretting. The aelf showed no sign of returning for his goods. He sent messengers up to the Skuru elg mountain, but without a name he was at a loss to find the commissioner of the piece. His descriptions did not help. You aelves look much the same to us,’ he said. ‘The craftsman was perhaps too coy about what he had made. If he had revealed he had the stones, things might very well have turned out differently, but he did not, keeping to his trader’s oath of confidentiality instead.

  ‘A reckoner of the Granite Brotherhood paid the craftsman a visit, insisting that he repay the money he had borrowed. When he saw the necklace, he softened his tone, and urged the craftsman to sell it, whereupon he would be able to repay the debt and be enriched in the process.

  ‘“It is not mine to sell,” the craftsman said.

  ‘“The aelf is in breach of contract,” said the reckoner. “You are free to do with it as you will.” The craftsman said no. The Granite Brotherhood’s representative insisted, several times, but the craftsman was an honourable sort, and steadfastly refused.

  ‘The Granite Brotherhood gave him a week more to find the money. “After which time has passed,” their reckoner informed him, “we shall seize your goods, as we are legally entitled to, and you will be poor.”

  ‘The craftsman hid his worries from the reckoner, but they were growing, until, four nights after the Granite Brotherhood came, he received a message, delivered by an unseen hand to the side of his bed, and written upon paper damp with the mist.

  ‘“My apologies for the delay,” it began. “Owing to unforeseen circumstances I have been unable to collect the item you fashioned for me. However, I need but to see it, and I will be able to pay you the sum in full. I have absolute trust that the piece will be exquisite. I cannot come into the city, and require delivery. Bring the necklace with you to Eskbirgen’s Cove tonight, at moonrise, where I shall meet you. Come alone! There you shall receive your reward.

  ‘“Once again, my heartiest apologies.”

  ‘It was signed with an X,’ said Stonbrak. He gave each of his listeners a serious look. The storm hooted outside. Somewhere in the inn a shutter banged. ‘Naturally, our craftsman was outraged. This aelf had broken his bond to him. Being a duardin of the shadow realm, he had expected the course of events to run crooked, but now he was facing betrayal, ambush or worse! He had no choice but to comply. The sum involved was great.

  ‘The cove was a league outside of Barak Gorn and well known to him. It is a beautiful spot, if you like the outdoors kind of thing and not the solidity of a good ceiling of bedrock over your head,’ said Stonbrak, in a way that suggested a preference for the open sky was madness. ‘But it had something of an ill reputation, owing to the use it was put during the dark times of the Age of Chaos. Of course, the craftsman went, but before he left for the cove he took his pistols from the workshop strongbox. He loaded one for himself and gave the other to Bertgilda, and asked her to follow him, and secrete herself in the rocks at the edge of the beach so she might keep watch.

  ‘“In this way,” he said to her, “we may foil any aelven trickery.”

  ‘The craftsman set out first, Bertgilda a half-hour behind, in case the shop was being watched. The craftsman took the Long Stair out of the city, up through the overhang and onto the clifftops. All trade goes to and from Barak Gorn via the ocean and the Realmgate in the deepest hall. Currently there are no roads to the port. The Long Stair’s exit is carefully hidden. Were you to pass it by, you would not see it, not even you, wayfarer.’ Stonbrak directed this at Maesa. Maesa raised a hand and waved it equivocally, prompting a harrumph from the duardin.

  ‘A thin trail, no wider than that made by goats,’ Stonbrak said, his voice becoming gruffer, ‘winds across the cliffs. If you look down from the top, there is no sign the city is there. Well it is so, for Ulgu is a tormented realm even now.

  ‘To the north of Barak Gorn the bulk of the aelves’ mountain is grey in the mist. In the late afternoon, when our craftsman departed, the light of Hysh spreads itself through the vapours, giving a harsh but indistinct illumination. Under those conditions the mountain often appears like a steel cut-out laid upon brass. The entrance to their kingdom was almost as well hidden as the one to ours, but the craftsman knew the way. That the aelf had not asked for the item to be delivered to the aelven kingdom gave him no end of concerns, but if he wished to be paid, he had no choice but to follow the aelf’s wishes. More or less.’ Stonbrak grinned. ‘He was carrying his gun, you will remember.

  ‘Bertgilda followed him later. The fogs thickened, and though the cliffs are free of trees or other such vegetation, and the close turf smooth and without rocky eminences, she only caught sight of her master once or twice ahead, and then only by the bobbing of his lantern. The gloom was full of the whisperings of misbegotten things, but a duardin maid is as brave as any warrior, and she made her way to the cove without mishap. Through drifts of mist she saw that the craftsman was already waiti
ng upon the beach. The sea heaved with slow waves, none cresting, but all rolling up and down. The water was as dull as tarnished pewter, and thick as oil. It slopped upon the shingle beach. In the misty twilight it raised not so much as a clack of stone on stone, or the faintest hint of the rushing hiss one should expect of sea on shore. It was silent, almost deader than Shyish. No offence,’ said Stonbrak.

  ‘None taken, I assure you,’ said Horrin, though Ninian scowled.

  Stonbrak leaned forward, his massive head shadowed by candle and firelight, making chasms of his wrinkles and caves of his eyes and mouth. His voice lowered, as if evoking the watchful quiet of the Realm of Mist. The storm, too, lessened in ferocity, rapt as the listeners.

  ‘No one else was about,’ said Stonbrak. ‘Bertgilda found a spot close by where she could observe, primed the pistol loaned to her by the craftsman and hid herself. She did it well. She had a little rune craft to her, did Bertgilda. A scratch here and there, and the application of certain metallic salts, and she was hidden as well as could be. Not even her master saw her, though he was only two dozen paces away.’ He grinned sadly. ‘She had skill that girl. When the aelf came down to the shore from the clifftop path, he passed her right by without so much as a glance in her direction. His boots scuffed the stone not four handspans from her nose, and she was not seen. She held her breath until the aelf was past, pressed against the rock and soil. When she heard the aelf hail the craftsman – “Master goldsmith!” he said – she poked up her head to watch.

  ‘The pair met upon the shore. He was arrogant, like most aelves.’ Another hard look was spared for the prince. ‘But this one, he had an air of desperation, and though he tried his best to stand tall and haughty over our craftsman, his head kept drifting sideways, as if he expected his worst fears to emerge from the sea, and pull him under.

  ‘The craftsman stood with legs apart, his thick fingers hooked into his belt. He was the very picture of duardin indomitability. He looked confident, Bertgilda said, he looked stubborn.

  ‘“Do you have the necklace?” said the aelf.

  ‘“Do you have my money?” the craftsman said. He patted the butt of his gun.

  ‘“You shall have it, I promise,” said the aelf, and appeared sufficiently apologetic that our craftsman lost a little of his anger. “Please,” the aelf pleaded. “Let me see the necklace.” He looked nervously over the water again. “She will be here soon. She is my love, but we must not anger her.”

  ‘The craftsman thought nothing of this. Duardin women are notoriously fiery of temper too, and with a people as mercurial as the aelves… Well.’ His eyebrows bristled. ‘Let’s just say I am glad my wife is no aelfish female.’

  ‘His isn’t either!’ hissed Shattercap, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. ‘You be nice, beard bearer. Make bad thoughts about the poor prince. His wife is–’

  ‘Silence, Shattercap,’ said Prince Maesa, so firmly the spite cringed. ‘Pray continue,’ he said to Stonbrak’s questioning expression. He left no doubt that he would not speak further on the matter.

  ‘The necklace was presented,’ Stonbrak continued. ‘The light of eight seas shone into the grey aelf’s face. His unfriendly demeanour was banished for a moment as he gazed in wonder upon the work.

  ‘“Truly you are a master of your craft!” he said. The craftsman bowed.

  ‘“I am,” said our craftsman, and took the necklace back. The aelf’s yearning gaze followed it all the way into the pouch. “Now. My payment,” said the duardin.

  ‘The aelf shrank in on himself, for he was rightfully ashamed, and gave the craftsman a desperate look. “You must give me the necklace and go.”

  ‘“Are you mad?” said the craftsman. “You will pay me!”

  ‘“I will, I will,” said the aelf. “Payment will be left here. You must leave the beach, turn your back on the sea. Do not look to the water, or it will go badly for you. My lover has the gold, and I swear I shall leave it here for you.”

  ‘“Lies!” boomed our craftsman. His voice rolled out over the lazy slap of the water. His talented hands drew his ­pistol and he pointed it at the aelf’s head, so fast a movement in that listless, leaden bay.

  ‘“I am sorry!” wailed the aelf. He clasped his hands together. “I did not wish to trick you, but this is the only way.” He blinked. “I told you a little mistruth. I have no money.”

  ‘“Then I shall blow your lying aelven head off!” roared the craftsman, who by now had more than had his fill of aelfish nonsense.

  ‘“Wait, wait! I mean for you to be paid! She has riches beyond compare. She is beauty incarnate. I must have her as my own. I am sorry to have deceived you. She will give you what you seek, I swear, but please, you must leave. Get away from the water.”

  ‘“I,” said the craftsman through his anger, “am an honourable being. I have endured questioning, and innuendo, and threats because of the money I borrowed to make your necklace. I refused to listen. Our contract is binding, but you have invalidated it. I am going, and I will sell this necklace of the eight seas to recoup my loss.”

  ‘“You mustn’t!” said the aelf. Ignoring the gun held at his head, he ran to the shoreline and back again. His feet whispered over the stones. The click of the hammer drawn back halted him.

  ‘“Goodbye, master aelf,” said the craftsman. He began to back away.

  ‘The aelf remained staring out to sea. “Oh no! She comes!”

  ‘A haunting note echoed from the cliffs, penetrating the mists, and travelled far out to sea.

  ‘“Too late!” the aelf said with anguish. “Leave!”

  ‘The craftsman paused. “Then she can pay me herself,” he said, his pistol not wavering one hair’s breadth from the aelf’s head.

  ‘Bertgilda watched with mounting horror. She wished to shout that the craftsman flee, but he was her elder, and she had no right to tell him what to do. The scene took on the feeling of a dream. The sea boiled not far from the shore, and from the waves a pale-skinned aelf maid rose. Although she left the water, it did not appear to leave her. Her hair and clothes moved with the slow dances of the drowned. Fish darted through the air beside her. If she swam herself or flew towards the shore, Bertgilda could not tell. Her account was confused. Her recollection of events was slipping from her when I heard the tale, and the second time I spoke with her on this matter, she had forgotten most of it, all in the space of a day! Aelfish witchcraft.

  ‘The aelf maid floated to the beach, her feet not once touching the floor.

  ‘“You have the necklace?” she said. Her voice was quiet as wind-stirred water, as soft as the movement of weeds in a pool, and yet Bertgilda heard it, and it filled her brave maiden’s soul with fear.

  ‘“Give it to her!” The grey aelf hissed. “If you value your life, please! If she is satisfied you may depart with your soul and your money.”

  ‘Still holding up the gun, the craftsman pulled out the necklace and raised it for the aelf maid to see.

  ‘She gasped with pleasure and drifted nearer, not once touching the jewel, but caressing it with her gaze. As she peered into each watergem and saw the worlds entrapped therein, she laughed, and said in delight, “A fine gift you have brought me, my dryshod love. A worthy price for my affection.”

  ‘A look of pure avarice gripped her. The look she gave my kinsman was far, far worse.

  ‘“You have another item for me, I see.”

  ‘The aelf looked at the craftsman. “Run!”

  ‘Too late did our honest jeweller see the peril he was in, and even though he knew now what danger there was in the exchange, a duardin does not run! Never! He fired his gun. The report of the shot banged off every stone and out into the mist. But the violence of the noise was all the shot availed him. The bullet slowed, as if caught by water, and drifted down, scaring apart a shoal of fish swimming in that uncanny ocean surrounding the foreign princes
s. The maid descended upon him, hands outstretched. His gun fell to the shingle.

  ‘What act of sorcery the aelf performed I cannot say. Bertgilda was gripped by an awful, unnatural terror, and could not watch. The last she heard was the craftsman’s strangled groan, the awful scream of the male aelf and a mighty splash. She lost her senses for a while. When she regained them the aelves were gone. The craftsman, by a miracle of the ancestors, lay upon the shingle, eyes wide, still breathing. At first she laughed through her tears, until she found her attempts to rouse him failed, and she realised his body lived devoid utterly of mind.

  ‘Upon his chest was a bag of weed-wrapped net, full of coins dragged from cursed wrecks. The promised payment for his work.’

  Stonbrak pulled hard on his pipe, his exhalations filling the space around the table with a cloud of fragrant smoke. The fire was burning low, lighting the room through the pipe’s exhaust much as Stonbrak had described Ulgu – a glowing mist, never bright, never truly dark.

  ‘Bertgilda returned to the city half out of her wits,’ he said. ‘Days later, our clan heard a rumour of an aelf of low birth who had taken the most precious treasure owned by the mountain king and used it to buy the hand of the daughter of a foreign lord whom he loved most dearly. The treasure, of course, was eight, perfect watergems.

  ‘For some time, the grey aelves argued with us about the fate of the craftsman. Eventually, the alder council declared the craftsman at fault on account of reckless brokering, and the aelves admitted their share of the blame. The Granite Brotherhood creditors called in their loan. By that time the interest accrued was so large the sea gold covered only part of the debt, and his family were cast into penury.