Winter's Gift - Part III

In part three of Gidwyn's tale, Gidwyn and his family visit the quiet mountainside settlement of Sky's Anvil on what they assume will be a quiet and easy day-long trip.

Little do they know, cruelty knows no bounds - and its withered hand hangs low over Gidwyn and his family.


Part III comes slightly later than anticipated due to a busy weekend. Part IV can be expected in around a week's time.





Five days later, the Greylockes and their trio of wolf-dogs found themselves in Sky’s Anvil. The day was as clear and as crisp as the new-fallen snow high upon the mountains’ slopes, with a white-golden sun sat high in an unblemished sapphire sky.

             ‘T’is t’ be a good day today, my loves!’ Gidwyn said as he led Eoina by the hand – who in-turn led Kiryae by hers – down the winding, rocky slope towards where Sky’s Anvil lay, nestled upon a shelf of rock tucked between two tall peaks. The dogs led the way, padding slowly over the rubble-strewn path, their sharp eyes always watching.

The unusual trio who followed the three wolf-dogs were dressed in their thickest, warmest greatgoat-fur tunics and trousers and the hardiest leather boots Gidwyn could find. All three of them were wrapped in thick bearskin cloaks – expensive rarities, heirlooms passed down by Eoina’s grandfather and his brothers on the day of her wedding to Gidwyn.

Galahad had left the Greylockes two days before after his short visit, making his way back down the mountains with a herder taking a small flock of greatgoats to the Old City for butchering. Gidwyn was always sad to see his dear brother go and worried terribly for him – especially since the loss of his arm. But on a bright day, with a whistle on his lips, his wife and foster-daughter beside him and his dogs loping along with them, nothing could keep a smile from Gidwyn’s face.

             ‘A day a beautiful as our sweet one, eh Giddy?’ Eoina said, squeezing both Gidwyn and Kiryae’s hands in her own.

             ‘Oh, aye!’ Gidwyn said, looking back to where Kiryae was walking.

             Kiryae’s deep blue eyes met Gidwyn’s and she smiled at him – one of her rare, genuine smiles. The young she-Elf loved Sky’s Anvil’s market days, but from what Gidwyn had seen, never because of the people there. Though she was the pinnacle of politeness and cordiality with all those who approached her, she was far more interested in the oxen, greatgoats, fowl and most of all the dogs the other mountain-folk brought with them.

As Gidwyn looked at his beloved foster-daughter, he had to admit that there was just something about her that he could just not put his finger on. She glides across the path as if there were nae a stumblin’ rock or trippin’ crack before ‘er. An’ she barely seems to be payin’ heed to where she treads. The Dwarf-man shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the road ahead - and the last turn in the path into Sky’s Anvil. Must jus’ be an Elf thing.

Sheltered from the worst of the chaotic storms that could sweep through the Great Mountains without so much as a moment’s warning, Sky’s Anvil was protected on all sides by tall, jagged rocks. It was an odd settlement – the last port-of-call for many of the surface-bound traders from the Hrudun Underkingdom – but an important link for the mountain-dwelling farmers such as Gidwyn to the rest of their world.

It was a large village: set against the broad chest of Mount Hysaris, several clusters of stone-walled houses that could withstand any weather were collected upon a plate-like ledge overlooked on all sides by the jagged range. The two-dozen or-so domestic buildings collected around a central market-place made of wooden stalls that could be set-up and packed-down at a moment’s notice. A narrow, winding track snaked from the market, down through the jagged natural wall around the village’s edge, and away into the crags and snow-covered bluffs below.

As Gidwyn led Eoina and Kiryae into the village, he pointed to a large hall situated on a small, snow-covered rise at the back of the village, pressed up against the sheer rock of the mountain’s chest. ‘Tha’s where the village jarl or jarlessa lives,’ he said.

‘I know,’ Kiryae said in her faraway voice. ‘I saw Jarlessa Tiritha last Midfire’s Eve. Do you remember, Mother?’

Eoina nodded her head. ‘She liked ye – mayhap we’ll see ‘er today at market.’

‘I hope so,’ Kiryae said. ‘She had a beautiful hunting-hawk.’

On the whole, Gidwyn preferred to steer clear of Sky’s Anvil, particularly on market days. He had grown up in the Old City with markets that lasted weeks – thousands upon thousands of Halflings from across the Underkingdom would flock to the lofty, arched boulevards beneath the Great Mountains to peddle wares most could never imagine: from lavish jewellery set with gemstones the size of a man’s fist, to complicated mechanical devices that whirred and twitched when a little water was passed through them, and from weapons so mighty and fierce that the very stone seemed to quake in anticipation of their blows, to traded beasts from the Upper-World, the likes of which Gidwyn could not describe in words. Sky’s Anvil’s little collection of stalls draped in salted meat, heavy hobnail boots, and other necessities was a far-cry from the magnanimity of the Old City’s markets, and when Gidwyn stepped between those low wooden stalls, he found himself wistful and longing to see the Old City again. Streets alive wit’ stalls so vibrant and beautiful, it were as if a silken rainbow ‘ad been draped through the Kingdom. Oh, t’ see it again!

‘Giddy?’

Pulled away from his memories by Eoina’s voice and a tug on his hand, Gidwyn looked about. ‘Sorry, I were daydreamin’.’

‘I know,’ Eoina said, her round face creasing into a smile. ‘But come on, let’s get sorted so as Kiryae can go ‘an look at Ol’ Darla’s cob.’

Gidwyn nodded. ‘Aye-aye.’

It was unusual for Gidwyn and his small family to visit Sky’s Anvil’s small market so soon after a visit from Ramscoldt, but there were certain things the Gnome’s caravan could not provide him with – certain things Gidwyn had to order especially. Plus, the Dwarf thought as he led Eoina, Kiryae, and the three dogs into the snow-strewn village centre, Garris’ oxen-beef steaks are well worth the quarter-day’s walk.

Despite the sparseness of the market – and the fact that anyone who did not have to be outside was indoors, sitting beside their fire-pit – Gidwyn found Sky’s Anvil’s meagre centre surprisingly busy. Folk from the village and the few farms beyond had come for the day’s pickings, and the low hubbub of several dozen Dwarven voices mixed with the whistle of the mountain wind and the smell of cooking.

Perhaps it ain’t so terrible ‘ere after all, Gidwyn thought as he strode into the market.

A host of familiar faces awaited around the snow-touched stalls: brawny, bearded Dwarf-men beamed at Gidwyn as he passed; the ladies, wrapped up in huge, heavy cloaks and covered with hoods, smiled and waved at him as he passed.

‘Father?’ Kiryae said suddenly from where she walked behind Gidwyn. ‘Why are there so few Gnomes here?’

Gidwyn looked around. It was true, there were few Gnomes this far up the mountain, and the two that Gidwyn saw shivering beside a stall neatly arranged with delicate hand-tools – scissors, tweezers, needles – were wrapped up in so many layers they looked as if they could barely move.

 ‘Not had yer fill from Ramscoldt, eh?’ Gidwyn said with a half-laugh. ‘They ain’t so hardy, the Gnome-folk; we Dwarves are a stocky sort. We weather the cold much better than they do.’

Kiryae nodded her head slowly, her piercing eyes fixed on the two Gnomes behind their stall of hand-tools. Not far away, a handful of Dwarf-children played in the snow, chasing each other with sticks and throwing snowballs. Kiryae did not so much as spare them a glance.

Gidwyn had got used to Kiryae’s odd behaviour. Although she was of an age with most of the village children, she only ever joined in their games when told to by Eoina, and even then she presided, preferring to watch others play and step in when someone got hurt or upset than play herself. Gidwyn looked over his shoulder at his beloved foster-daughter to see that her gaze had moved from the two Gnomes to where an elderly Dwarf-man was driving an ox-pulled cart into the small village centre, his wagon piled with root vegetables. Kiryae’s eyes were fixed on the animal.

‘Father, could I-…’

‘Yes, go on,’ Gidwyn said with a sigh. ‘But leave the dogs here – we don’t want ta spook Denmar’s ol’ ox, do we?’

Gidwyn and Eoina stopped in the centre of the village, Karveth, Coren and Synera obediently sitting beside them. The three enormous wolf-dogs watched as Kiryae swept across the snow-covered cobbles through the crowd of Dwarves to stop before the wagon. She spoke for a moment with the driver before turning to the large, horned oxen and stroking its nose. The beast seemed enraptured by her touch, and nuzzled her hand fondly.

‘D’ya think it’s an Elf kinda thing?’ Eoina said from beside Gidwyn.

Scratching Coren’s chin just where he liked it, Gidwyn shrugged his shoulders. Eoina had asked him the same question dozens of times before. ‘She loves the animals. They love ‘er. Must be, no?’

Gidwyn turned to look at Eonia. Beneath the hood she wore, her face was thoughtful. ‘I don’t know,’ she said slowly, as she always did. ‘We’ve always said, there’s just somethin’ ‘bout ‘er-…’

‘…That we cannae put our finger on, aye,’ Gidwyn finished. ‘But she’s kind, m’love,’ he said, putting his arm around Eoina’s shoulders and moving his hand to scratch Synera’s muzzle. ‘And there’s an absence o’ kindness in this world. But c’mon.’

Taking Eoina by the hand, Gidwyn led her and his three wolf-dogs through the Dwarf-folk coming and going across the village centre. He made straight for a wide wooden shed just in front of one of the stone homes, tucked behind a ledge of rock to protect it from the elements.

Gidwyn could smell the pungent tang of urine and leather before he was even inside. He paused outside the door and turned to Eoina. ‘D’ya mind waiting out here with the dogs?’

Eoina scoffed. ‘Nae, I was lookin’ forward to standin’ in a shack tha’ stinks of cattle-piss!’ she cuffed him on the arm and grinned. ‘Jus’ be quick, ye ol’ lump.’

Gidwyn grinned and kissed his wife’s forehead before turning to the door. As he pushed it open, a great wave of foetid air washed over him and he hand to stop himself coughing.

Inside, the room was dark. Lit only by a few candles and a small fire-pit in the centre of the floor, long shadows were cast of everything – and everyone – in the room.

‘Hello, Fyori!’ Gidwyn called as he walked into the room.

             From beside the fire-pit, a figure looked up. Long-faced and elderly, with a hooked nose and sagging cheeks, the figure shot Gidwyn a filthy look. ‘Yer late, Greylocke,’ the figure said. ‘Late as always.’

             ‘Ah, m’dear,’ Gidwyn said, walking further into the dark shed, the walls of which were covered in dozens of pairs of heavy leather boots. ‘You know me-…’

             ‘By the Fire, all too damn well,’ came the cutting reply.

             Gidwyn sighed and looked at the elderly woman before him. Fyori was bent-backed and miserable, walked with a terrible limp and had spent so much of her life around leather and shoes she permanently stank of urine. Notoriously ill-tempered and unkind, she was also the eldest living Dwarf on the mountains – rumour saying she was at least three-hundred and seventy years old. Fer all yer damn faults, Gidwyn thought as he eyes the elderly figure by the fire, yer the best shoemaker in the Underkingdom. ‘I take it ye’ve finished, then?’ he said.

             ‘Of course I’ve finished!’ The figure snapped and stood slowly, presenting a pair of heavy boots to Gidwyn. ‘Good enough?’ the figure spat.

‘Oh, they’re beautiful!’ Gidwyn walked towards the elderly woman. The shoes she held were made of fine leather with thick laces up the front. The insides were lined with thick rabbit’s fur, and the soles reinforced with heavy iron nails. ‘Kiryae will love ‘em!’

‘Pah,’ Fyori snarled. ‘Making shoes for an Elf. I never thought I’d see the day.’

Gidwyn took from inside his heavy coat a large, clinking pouch and passed it to Fyori. ‘What we agreed – an’ a little extra as a special thank-ye.’

Fyori snatched the purse from Gidwyn’s hand. ‘Very good,’ she said. ‘Now, off you go.’

Gidwyn turned to leave, but had gone less than a step when raised voices from outside drew his attention. As he paused to listen, the door to the shed was flung open – and a familiar-looking figure walked in.

‘Ramscoldt,’ Gidwyn said coldly.

The sour-featured Gnome paused in the doorway as he saw Gidwyn standing in the shack. His face curdled with dislike. Behind him walked his knot of guardsmen. ‘Greylocke. I thought those were your mutts I saw outside.’

‘I’m surprised ye got so close after last time, eh?’ Gidwyn shot back.

‘What?’ Ramscoldt said, a look of feigned confusion on his face. ‘Oh no, not the dogs. I was talking about your wife and that thing you call a daughter.’

Gidwyn’s grip on the boots he had just purchased tightened in anger. ‘What are ye doin’ ‘ere? Ye were supposed to be back at the bottom of the mountain days ago.’ he snarled.

‘I was held up,’ the Gnome said, ‘and I’m obviously here for some shoes. I know you think me a snake, but I do have feet and I walk these paths just as you do,’ the Gnome said, his voice icy.

‘A snake? Nae,’ Gidwyn said. ‘A worm is more fittin’.’

Behind Ramscoldt, his men bristled, touching their swords and axes. The Gnome, however, simply smiled and waved them down. ‘There’s no need,’ he said. ‘Mister Greylocke isn’t worth our time. I do, however, have a question for him.’

Gidwyn laughed. ‘An’ wha’ makes ye think I’ll answer it?’

Ramscoldt shrugged. ‘Just hear me out,’ the little Gnome said. ‘What happens when Kiryae gets older?’

Gidwyn’s eyes narrowed. ‘Wha’ are ye getting’ at?’

The Gnome shrugged. ‘Elves, though long-lived compared to Humans, still do not live as long as we Halfling-folk,’ Ramscoldt said. ‘What will you do when she grows old? When she gets to, say, one-hundred and forty? You’ll be, what, nearing two-hundred and still have a few decades in you at the least.’ Ramscoldt’s mouth twitched into a cruel smile. ‘Will you be able to watch her wither and die?’

Gidwyn clenched his jaw behind his thick, dusky-blonde beard. Anger boiled in his chest, hot and furious. ‘Ye shut yer mouth right now,’ he snarled. ‘Or I’ll-…’

‘Or you’ll what, Greylocke?’ Ramscoldt sniggered. Behind him, his guards began to touch their swords and axes again.

Gidwyn said nothing. He was not a violent men, but the Dwarf had to fight the urge to hurl Kiryae’s boots aside and throttle the Gnome – he desperately wanted to feel his thin neck contort and crack in his hands, watch him plead to take back the words he had said about Kiryae. My daughter, he thought as he glared at the Gnome. My only daughter. Ye cowardly little…

 Glaring at the Gnome as he went, Gidwyn stormed out of Fyori’s shed without uttering another word. He found Eoina outside on the other side of the small village centre, Kiryae by her side, the three wolf-dogs calm.

‘We saw ‘im go in,’ Eoina said as Gidwyn approached. ‘Wha’s he doin’ ‘ere?’

‘Delayed, apparently,’ Gidwyn said, his voice grating. He looked away from Kiryae, trying to shield her from the fury on his face. He did not want to upset his dear daughter.

‘Fer five days?’ Eoina pulled a face.

‘Tha’s what I thought,’ Gidwyn said. The anger still boiled in his stomach and made his hands tremble, but he did what he could to hide it from his family. He took a deep breath and turned to face Kiryae. ‘But enough about Ramscoldt,’ the Dwarf-man said and turned, beaming up at his foster-daughter. ‘How was tha’ ox?’

Kiryae’s face lit up. ‘Happy,’ she said, her face breaking into a smile beneath her heavy hood. ‘He likes having his ears scratched. Not many people do it for him.’

‘Well, I’m glad to hear it,’ Gidwyn said, the light in Kiryae’s eyes making his own grin come easier.  After a moment, he held out the boots in his hands. ‘These ‘ere are fer ye.’

Kiryae looked at the boots for a moment, her eyes wide. ‘For me?’ she said.

‘Aye,’ Gidwyn said and nodded his head. ‘Yer getting’ too big fer yer current boots – ye’ll need new ‘uns come winter. We won’t be journyin’ far from th’ house fer a few months, so there’ll be no way to get ye some new ‘uns then.’

Gidwyn had expected Kiryae to be over them moon – for her face to light up and for her to laugh with joy. But instead, the young she-Elf held the boots in front of her face for a moment, her features pensive. ‘They’re so well-made,’ she said, her large blue eyes drinking in every detail of the craftsmanship, her features almost forlorn. ‘But does it not make you sad, Father, that they’re made from animal-flesh?’

The question caught Gidwyn off-guard. ‘Er,’ he stammered, glancing at Eoina. ‘Well, a little, aye. T’is always a shame when somethin’ ‘as to die, eh Eoina?’

Eoina nodded and put her hand on Kiryae’s arm. ‘Aye, but when us ‘ere on the mountain put a creature to death, we do it wit’ dignity, aye? We don’t waste it, no – its pelt keeps us warm and its flesh fills our bellies. We even use its bones an’ its hooves and horns for everythin’ from broth to drinkin’-cups! Nae, t’is always sad when an animal ‘as to die, but if we put it to death we ‘ave a responsibility to the animal to make proper use of it.’

Kiryae continued to look at the boots for a moment longer, then smiled. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘Thank-you, Mother and Father.’ She turned her piercing blue eyes to Gidwyn again, her smile widening. ‘Thank-you for everything.’

Despite Ramscoldt’s cold words still ringing in his ears, Gidwyn was unable to stop himself from beaming. Kiryae’s sensitivity had touched him, and he felt tears in the corners of his eyes but quickly wiped them away – any moisture would freeze in the mountain chill. Instead, he threw his arms around his foster-daughter and held her tightly in a warm embrace. ‘I love ye, sweetheart,’ he said as he held Kiryae in his arms. ‘I love ye so much.’

Kiryae laughed as Gidwyn’s beard scratched her neck. She buried her head in the thick padding of his heavy, fur-covered leather coat and wrapped her arms around his back. ‘I love you, Papa,’ she said.

And in that moment, everything was perfect.

*

Gidwyn, Eoina, Kiryae and the three dogs did not linger long in Sky’s Anvil; with winter nearing, Gidwyn knew well that sudden mountain storms could blow in at a moment’s notice. Thick and blinding snow could appear from nowhere in great blizzards, carried on violent winds strong enough to tear Dwarf-folk clean from the mountains. Gidwyn occasionally found bodies deep in the snow – shattered figures, hurled from cliffs and bluffs, dashed to pieces on rock and ice. I’ll no’ let my family go the same way.

As Gidwyn led his small family and three wolf-dogs back the way they had come, they followed their tracks from the morning. They were easy enough to spot – two small, squat pairs of boot-prints, side-by-side, accompanied by more slender prints surrounded by the tracks of a dozen large paws. They ran like a frozen river across the snow-buried mountain paths Gidwyn knew by intuition, occasionally crossed by the tracks of a mountain hare or bird.

The two Dwarves and their Elven foster-daughter said little as they walked – there was no need to. The trio walked in a comfortable silence through the crags and gullies and across the rope-bridges and frozen streams that lay across their passage home.

Gidwyn was unsure when he had last felt so happy. As he looked to Eoina at his side – his life-partner, his soul-mate – to the she-Elf who had been gifted to them by the mountain. There was a wide, silent grin on Kiryae’s face as she walked through the shin-deep snow, kicking great clouds of white up before her with her new boots. Eoina watched her with loving eyes and a warm smile on her face as Karveth, Coren and Synera padded around them.

Gidwyn was unsure if he would ever again feel as happy as he did that afternoon, walking in silence through the snow with his family. Is it even possible? he thought as he squeezed Eoina’s hand through the heavy leather mitten she wore.

She turned to look at him. ‘Aye, m’ love?’

Gidwyn leaned forwards and nuzzled Eoina, touching their noses and foreheads together. ‘I love ye.’

She reached up into his beard and gently held his face, closing her eyes for a moment as they paused in the snow. ‘Nae as much as I love ye.’

Somehow, I’m happier, Gidwyn thought as he stepped back and continued to lead his small family onwards.

             The afternoon was drawing long by the time Gidwyn, Eoina, Kiryae and the three wolf-dogs reached Hammersmote Pass – the last, long fissure through which they had to pass before reaching their home on the mountainside. As much as he had always loved living on the mountain, Gidwyn always felt a little uneasy when he waked through Hammersmote Pass: the path which he led his family down was narrow and treacherous, full of cracks and crevasses that could snap an ankle, and the sheer, dark rock walls that rose on their side of him were so large that they blotted out the sun.

             Although he knew it was nonsense, Gidwyn had an irrational fear of the enormous rock walls either side of him collapsing on him. The thick, black rock had stood for thousands of years, barely scratched by the wrathful elements that scourged the mountains every day. I’ve been buried under avalanches an’ snowfall more time than I can count, Gidwyn thought as he led Eoina by the hand – who in turn led Kiryae – along the jagged, zig-zagging rock path, but buried under rock? He shuddered.

             So when the bright, unobscured light of the late-afternoon day broke over Gidwyn’s face as he led his family from the narrow gulley and out on to the last plateau they had to cross before reaching home, he heaved a sigh of relief. In the distance, he could see his small house against the snow, little more than a grey-stone speck on the near-horizon, surrounded by dozens upon dozens of pinprick-sized greatgoats, many of which were crowded around the covered troughs Gidwyn kept out for them.

‘Ach, I hate it in there,’ Gidwyn muttered as he turned to make sure Eoina and Kiryae had made it alright.

             The two women greeted Gidwyn with smiles as they stepped out of the deep cleft behind him. Gidwyn looked up at the wall of sheer rock they had passed through, and up to the tip of the mountain high above it. ‘All accounted for?’ he asked, a big grin on his face.

             ‘I believe so,’ Eoina said as the three-wolf dogs loped out from behind Kiryae and stopped, their bright eyes on Gidwyn.

             The blonde-bearded Dwarf grinned. ‘Brilliant, onwards-…’

             Gidwyn’s words paused on his lips as, borne on the mountain wind came the bleat of a goat.

             ‘Y’ hear tha’?’ Eoina said.

             Gidwyn nodded. ‘Sounded close,’ he said. ‘Musta wandered off or got separated whilst we were gone. Probably stuck somewhere on the cliff above.’ The Dwarf raised his eyes to the sheer face of rock, the indomitable cliffs through which Hammersmote Pass ran. ‘Fire take the accursed thing.’

             Eoina waved a hand. ‘Take Synera an’ go an’ find it,’ she said. ‘Karvie and Coren can get Kiryae and I home.’

             ‘If yer sure,’ Gidwyn said.

             Eoina gestured towards the house. ‘I can see the damn farm, Gid; I know where I’m goin’, y’ worrywart.’

             ‘Alright, alright,’ Gidwyn waved a hand at Eoina. ‘I’ll see y’ in a while.’

             Eoina nodded. ‘I’ll ‘ave some dinner on fer ye. Maybe even find a bottle o’ fire-ale.’

             Gidwyn grinned. ‘A finer woman there ne’er was.’ He squeezed Eoina’s hand before turning to Kiryae. ‘Look after Ma, m’ love.’

             Kiryae’s large, blue eyes shone. ‘Yes, Father,’ she said. ‘See you shortly.’

             Gidwyn called Synera’s name and the large female wolf-dog left her pack-brothers to follow him. The group split in two, Gidwyn leading Synera away along the sheer face of rock in which Hammersmote Pass was cleft, and Kiryae and Eoina, accompanied by Karveth and Coren, made their way out across the snow-covered plateau to where their home waited in the distance.

             As Gidwyn made his way along the wall of dark cliff, he could not help but glance back at his wife and foster-daughter. They were an odd pair to look at, crossing the snow with their enormous wolf-dogs. Kiryae, though only ten years old, was already taller than her mother who was wrapped up in so many layers she was almost as broad as she was tall. Gidwyn could not help but smile fondly.

             Gidwyn was brought back to the task at hand as Synera nuzzled his palm, her enormous snout nudging his fingers until he responded by fussing her ears. ‘Good girl,’ the Dwarf muttered. ‘On we go.’

             It was a stiff climb up the cliff-face via a narrow path Gidwyn had found a few years before. The track, hewn one summer by Gidwyn and Galahad after a trio of greatgoats got stuck on the cliff above, had seen little in the way of care since. When Gally’s back ‘ere next year, we’ll ‘ave to go over this again, Gidwyn thought as he slowly made his way up between the jutting, sharp rocks and frost-scarred boulders, Synera one pace behind him all the way. Can’t ‘ave someone fallin’ an’ breakin’ their neck tryin’ to scale this rockface.

             Eventually, Gidwyn arrived at the top of the cliff. He paused for a moment to catch his breath as Synera padded in the snow around him. The top of the cliff before them was flat, with Hammersmote Pass scything through the rock to his left – a dark wound in the snow-covered rock; a lipless mouth frozen in a perpetual snarl. To his right rose one of the many mountains that made up the Hrudun range that stretched across the middle of Esdaria – tall, indomitable, and utterly impassable.

Gidwyn paused a moment to look away from the snow-covered, boulder-strewn plain that stretched away from him, and looked up at the enormous mountain in the shadow of which he stood. It was one that rose above all – a towering monstrosity of ice and rock, dwarfing the peaks that rose and fell like waves around it. ‘Kûrthalag,’ Gidwyn said – Colossus.

The snowy plain that ended with the crack that was Hammersmote Pass was little more than a fingernail on the enormous mountain. Although he lived in its shadow, and had done for decades, the sheer scale of the spire of rock still snatched his breath away. T’is a god of stone and ice, Gidwyn thought. The head and shoulders of a being large enough t’ make the whole of Esdaria its lap.

It was only when he looked around and readied himself to continue onwards that he realised Synera was growling. The noise was low and quiet, still caught in the back of her throat. As Gidwyn looked at his favourite wolf-dog, the bleat of the lost greatgoat came again – but this time it was different. Pained.

‘G’wan, Syn,’ Gidwyn said to the wolf-dog beside him. ‘Find it. Find it!’

With a single bark, Synera leapt forwards into the snow, her large snout raised into the air. She ran across the snow, loping and bounding through the deep, untouched carpet, sending great plumes of white skyward.

Gidwyn set off at a run behind Synera, kicking through the knee-deep snow with his heavy boots. ‘G’wan, girl!’ he called as he went. ‘Find ‘em! Find ‘em!’

Synera shot ahead, bounding through the snow. Gidwyn ran to keep up, tripping and stumbling on unseen rocks as he went, always aware of how close he and Synera were to the yawning chasm beside them.

Then, quite suddenly, another bleat came again – far closer this time, strained and strangled as if the creature were in great pain. Oh, Fire, don’t let it ‘ave a broken leg, Gidwyn thought. A lame greatgoat was a greatgoat he could not afford to look after – especially this close to winter. Don’t let it be one o’ the big ones, oh, Fire please…

But when Synera stopped dead in the snow in front of Gidwyn, the Dwarf knew something was afoot. A wild mountain-wolf?  he thought. A snow-lynx? Nae, none o; them have been seen in these parts fer ages – Karveth keeps ‘em away. Surely it’s not something worse? Surely not an ogre or… or a troll…? He felt a chill that went beyond the cold of the mountain go through him, and he began to wish for the axe he kept next to the door of his home. By the Fire, if it’s a troll or an ogre…

Gidwyn drew next to Synera who stood stock-still in the snow, staring at a lone boulder in the plain before them. Gidwyn could see tracks around the rock – hundreds of hoofprints where dozens of greatgoats had walked, churning up the snow, and large brown patches where their droppings had soiled the pristine white.

But Gidwyn could see that something had scattered the group. Their tracks were unclear and ran in all directions as if they had fled in panic.

Then Gidwyn saw flecks of red around the lone boulder.

Oh, Fire…

Stepping up beside Synera, Gidwyn and his huge wolf-dog slowly began to walk towards the boulder as quietly as they could. The Dwarf held his breath, trying to still his racing heart, but with every pace he took he found himself trembling more and more. The closer he got to the boulder, the more bloody flecks he could see in the snow – they were thick and heavy now, whatever was bleeding had been badly wounded.

And then he saw it.

Lying on its side just in front of the boulder was a dead greatgoat. Partly hidden by the thick snow, the creature was lying in a slowly-thickening pool of its own blood, turning the snow around it red.

From where he stood a few feet away, Gidwyn could see no beast had killed the greatgoat: its hide and tendons were covered in long, cruel cuts, and its throat had been slashed wide open. The way a butcher might with a knife – but the wounds in its hide…who would do such an unkind thing to such a defenceless creature?

And then, before Gidwyn could even cry out, something stepped from behind the boulder.

It was Man-sized, perhaps a little shorter. Its face was completely covered by a heavy hood, and it carried itself with a bent back. Gidwyn barely saw the bow in the creature’s hand, nor the thick, snow-white leathers it was clad in before Synera attacked. He heard the twang of a bowstring, the whizz of an arrow, and Synera’s furious roar.

Blood sprayed through the air as an arrow tipped with ragged feathers tore into Synera’s flank, but the wolf-dog was unperturbed. Rearing onto her hind legs, Synera was taller and broader than the figure was. The creature’s nerve broke and they turned and tried to run, calling out as it did.

Enormous teeth flashing in her maw, the figure let out a guttural screech as Synera sank her dagger-like fangs into the fleeing figure’s side. Gidwyn saw thick, dark, blue blood well from the wound and splatter in the snow as Synera wrenched and worried the creature from side to side. Gidwyn watched on in horror and revulsion as Synera tore at the creature, who fell into the snow screaming in a thin, hissing voice.

The crack of a second arrow shattering on the boulder from which the first figure had leapt yanked Gidwyn back to reality. He ducked and covered his head instinctively, lifting his gaze. There, not sixteen paces to his right, stood another of the white leather- and fur-clad figures, completely covered from head-to-foot, a bow in its gloved hand.

And it was going for another arrow.

As the thin, pallid fingers of the mysterious figure’s ungloved right-hand went to the quiver of crude, ragged-feathered arrows on their back, Gidwyn charged.

The figure got closer and closer with every step Gidwyn took. He watched as the leather-clad creature took another arrow from their quiver and nocked it to a crude, dark-wood bow. Gidwyn was almost there, but the snow was thick and pushed against his legs as he ran, freezing and stiffening Gidwyn’s knees. Fire, grant me strength! Fire, grant me strength!

Gidwyn forced his way through the snow, his arms swinging frantically, great clouds of white exploding before him as he frantically kicked as he ran. Six paces, five, he counted as he closed on the mysterious figure.

They nocked the arrow.

Four, three. I’m not goin’ to make it!

A gnarled bow was raised before Gidwyn; a savage, barbed arrow of dark iron aimed squarely at his face.

Two, one…

Gidwyn hurled himself forwards.

He heard the bowstring twang. Time seemed to slow and the Dwarf saw the iron-tipped arrow hang in the air between himself and the second attacker: every detail of it, from the jagged barbs on its tip to the matted flight-feathers, spun as it tore towards him.

And then everything happened at once.

Gidwyn felt the arrow scrape past his cheek, opening a long cut beneath his eye and splitting through the lobe of his left ear. He let out a cry of pain and felt blood stream over his face, but he was already flying through the air himself. Before the last of his shout of pain had left his lips, he collided with his attacker, the whole weight of his body crashing into the figure’s chest.

The two of them sprawled in the snow, but before Gidwyn could recover, the figure was on top of him, its hands around his neck. He felt two long-nailed thumbs pressing through his beard and into his windpipe and tried to gasp, but was already losing breath.

Raising one of his large fists, Gidwyn aimed a flailing punch at the figure’s hooded head. The blow landed hard and square, a satisfying crunch split through the freezing air of the snow-covered plain.

The attacker reeled backwards from Gidwyn’s blow, its hood slipping from its head. Two gleaming eyes as black as cut jet glared out at Gidwyn from either side of a pair of long, slit-like nostrils. A lipless mouth of sharp teeth snarled out from a bone-white face, and two short, point-tipped ears stuck out from either side of the figure’s head.

Oh, by the Fire, Gidwyn thought as he watched a long tendril of blue blood snaked from the figure’s nostril where he had hit him. Not a troll, not an ogre. Something worse. Something much worse.

There was no more time to lie in the snow and stare. Using all his strength, Gidwyn hurled the ghastly creature off himself and leapt to his feet. The thin-faced creature with its pitch-black eyes was up moments later, and from its belt it drew a long, hooked dagger. A cruel smile played on its thin lips and as it raised the dagger above its head, it opened its mouth to snarl at Gidwyn.

But the snarl was drowned out by a roar.

Like a fanged streak of silver moonlight, Synera came racing across the snow and leapt into the air. She hung above the attacker for a moment, jaws wide, then snapped shut her fangs around the arm in which it held its dagger.

The creature howled and tried to pull its arm away. Gidwyn watched as the dagger fell from its fingers and blue blood gushed from the creature’s arm wounds. Synera snarled through her blue-bloodied teeth and wrenched on the creature’s arm, pulling it off balance. Screaming in agony, the attacker tried to pull away, but Synera’s jaws were locked tight.

With a final heave from the enormous wolf-dog and a wet ripping sound, Synera tore off the creature’s arm.

Gidwyn had seen a lot in the snow: pregnant greatgoats haemorrhaging their insides over his hands as he tried to save the kid; mangled, frozen bodied at the bottom of cliffs; emaciated corpses, decades old, trapped in glaciers – milky eyes of the long-dead boring into him. But there was something about the sight before him that made his stomach weak – the writhing creature, howling and shrieking in a hissing voice, clutching at the ragged wound at its shoulder as its blood turned the snow blue; the way Synera stood with its arm clamped between her jaws, her bright eyes fixed on the writhing figure as it slowly bled out in the snow; the reek of evacuated bowels.

Eventually, the creature stopped writhing and fell still, its jet-black eyes glazing over, its corpse still gushing blue blood into the snow. Gidwyn bent and picked up the terrible hooked dagger from where it had been dropped in the snow and tucked it into his belt. ‘We might need this, Syn,’ he muttered to the wolf-dog, though his voice shook like a snowflake in a screaming gale. ‘Yaghu always travel in groups.’

Gidwyn had never seen a Yaghu up close before. Old enemies of the Dwarves, the ghastly, bone-pale creatures had once upon a time lived in the Cold North – the frozen wastes that lay beyond the Great Mountains. But thousands of years ago, Humankind had appeared upon the tundra – a larger, stronger, more warlike race, and they had driven the Yaghu into hiding in the mountains before migrating south, through the Throat of the North and into the lands that would become first be ruled by the Tyralii, then be known as the Free Kingdoms of Men, and was now in-part called the Vidorian Empire.

Since then, the Yaghu prowled in the shadows of the most hostile crevasses on the mountains’ faces, or hidden in the deepest, darkest caverns that even the Halflings dared not to venture into. Occasionally they would raid settlements or villages, maybe the odd caravan. Gidwyn had heard terrible tales of the cruelty of the Yaghu – of captives flayed and left to die amidst the ruins of their carts, of Dwarves and Gnomes stripped naked and left to freeze in the snow. Most of the time, though, the warriors of the Underkingdom stopped them. Galahad had told Gidwyn the tale of how he had lost his arm to a Yaghu raiding party during the rebellions years ago dozens of times.

As Gidwyn breathed heavily, looking down at the mangled corpse in front of him, he remembered the first attacker. ‘Synera!’ he cried and turned to his beloved wolf-dog. There, protruding from her flank, was one of the long, dark, barbed arrows the Yaghu had attacked with. Blood welled from around the wound, but there was nothing Gidwyn could do – not out here.

‘We have t’ get ye home, girl,’ he said, placing his hand on her head.

Synera seemed to understand, fixing Gidwyn with her bright, golden eyes and dropping the Yaghu arm that had remained clenched between her teeth. It landed in the snow with a wet, dull thump.

‘We have t’ get ye back to Eoina,’ Gidwyn said, fussing her ears, ‘she’ll know wha’ to do wit’ ye.’

Gidwyn’s heart almost stopped.

‘By the Fire,’ he whispered, ‘Eoina. Kiryae.’

Winter's Gift - Part II

Part two of Gidwyn's tale takes us ten years into the future. We re-join Gidwyn, Eoina, Galahad, and Kiryae - now a child grown - on what should be a normal day upon the slopes of the Great Mountains...

...that is, until an unwanted guest arrives at then door asking for sanctuary.

I hope you're all enjoying Winter's Gift so far. Part three shall be released sometime towards the end of next week. Happy reading - and have a great Sunday!

The flickering flame from the deepwax candle danced in Kiryae’s large, ice-blue eyes. ‘But why do we have to keep it lit, father?’ the Elf-girl asked.

                ‘Because, sweetheart,’ Gidwyn said, standing beside where the ten-year-old Elf-girl knelt, ‘it’s our way o’ sayin’ thank-ye to the Fire. ‘Tween Fire an’ Stone, the whole World ‘as been made; tha’s includin’ ye and me. So we keep this lil’ candle as a way o’ sayin’ thank-ye.’

                Kiryae nodded slowly. ‘But the Syladrian Dwarves don’t agree with you, do they?’

                Gidwyn sighed. She’s too damn smart fer ‘er own good. ‘Aye, they don’t,’ he said. ‘They believe in the Great Creator, or the Maker; a great celestial bein’ who works at ‘is anvil all day forgin’ worlds and folks to live on ‘em.’

                ‘That’s not so different from what the Dwarves of the Great Mountains believe about the Fire, is it?’ Kiryae asked, affixing Gidwyn with her piercing, innocent eyes. ‘You believe that all things come from the Fire, which crafts the world from the Stone, and-…’

                ‘Kiryae,’ Eoina said gently from beside the fire-pit, ‘leave yer pa alone, ‘e’s ‘ad a long day!’

                ‘But I want to know!’ the she-Elf girl protested.

                ‘It’s alright, Eoina,’ Gidwyn said, sitting down beside Kiryae. ‘What d’ye want to know, exactly?’

At ten years old, Kiryae was already taller than both of her Dwarven foster-parents by at least a hand-and-a-half’s height – perhaps two hands if Gidwyn measured by the long, pointed ears that extended past the crown of her head. In fact, Gidwyn was pretty sure she was the tallest person living within the lands of the Underkingdom. She was lanky and gangly, stuck in the extended period of near-adolescence that long-lived Elves suffered for a good decade, with silver-white hair that every Dwarf on the Hrudun mountains secretly envied. For hours, Eoina and Kiryae would sit by the fire pit together whilst Eoina cared for Kiryae’s hair. The Dwarf-woman would tell Kiryae stories of ancient Halflings – and Elves, if she could think of the right tale – and comb, plait, and braid Kiryae’s long, silver cascade of hair until it was a glittering work of woven art.

                As soon as she had been old enough to ask why she did not look like other Dwarves, Gidwyn and Eoina had told her the truth of how she had come to be with them. They had told her they had not known her name, or who her parents were, or what they were doing so far north in the Great Mountains on such a stormy night. They had told her that her name Kir-yae meant ‘Winter’s Gift’ in High Dwarven. She had only been five or six years old at the time, but Gidwyn had been proud of the maturity with which Kiryae had handled the truth. She had never asked about it again, though.

                As Gidwyn sat beside the pretty Elven girl with ice-blue eyes and a wit as sharp as a honed dagger, he found himself looking back on the days that followed her rescue. Whilst his lips told the young Elf-girl of how the Flame Pontiff and his Burning Deacons had once upon a time been little more than a cult, but now played a direct role in the governance of the Underkingdom, images of walking through the snow, desperately searching for any sign of the strange killers of the Elven party, flashed through his mind.

                ‘What do the Men believe, Father?’ Kiryae’s question brought Gidwyn back to reality.

                Gidwyn let out a chuckle. ‘Careful wit’ yer questions, girl: Humans ‘ave fought wars o’er less.’

                Kiryae looked at Gidwyn, puzzled, but was interrupted by a knock on the door.

                ‘Open up, Giddy, ‘s cold as a greatgoat’s arse out ‘ere, and the company smells about as good as one!’ a voice said.

                Eoina was at the door before anyone else and quickly pulled it open. The bright light of the early afternoon day outside flooded in, and was followed quickly by a stocky, cloaked figure.

                Eoina embraced Galahad as he stepped through, and he kissed her forehead. ‘Not frozen yet?’ Galahad asked with a laugh, as he always did every time he came to visit.

                ‘Nae,’ Eoina replied. ‘How’s Torith?’

                The last decade had been unkind to Galahad. A year after Gidwyn had found Kiryae in the frozen wilderness, Queen Ffyon of the Unerkingdom had passed a writ allowing for certain members of the Synod of Flame to hold both secular and ecclesiastical offices, which came at the expense of the seats of some old aristocratic families. A rebellion had begun that had taken six years to be put down. As a loyal soldier of the queen, Galahad had been called upon to do his duty – a duty which had almost cost him his life.

                ‘Uncle Gally!’ Kiryae cried, jumping to her feet and crossing to embrace the bald-headed but magnificently-bearded Dwarf. ‘Can you tell me the story of how you lost your arm again? You make it so exciting!’

                Galahad gathered Kiryae up in his one good arm and squeezed her tightly. He’d be a great father, Gidwyn thought as he watched on with a smile. Although Galahad had married Torith, the woman of his dreams, she had fallen terribly sick whilst he had been away on campaign, and when Galahad had returned, she had been unable to bear any children. The couple had been heartbroken.

                ‘Kiryae, he’s barely through the door, give the fella a chance!’ Eoina cried.

                Galahad kissed Kiryae’s cheek – it was as high as he could reach – then turned to his younger brother and embraced him.

                ‘Too long,’ Gidwyn said as he held his brother to him. ‘Far too long.’

                ‘Bein’ a commander ‘is ‘ard work,’ Galahad said, shrugging his shoulders.

                ‘Farmin’ goats ‘is ‘arder.’

    Gidwyn’s eyes fell to his dear brother’s left arm. He still was not used to seeing Galahad with no lower-left arm – though he had grown tired of listening to the tale of how he lost it fending off a score of Yaghu alone. Instead of let the limb go to waste – or so Galahad had said – he had a solid metal buckler with a long spike protruding from its centre belted to the end of his handless forearm.

                Another figure stepped into the doorway, a large number of Dwarf-folk in armour and heavy cloaks behind him. ‘Good afternoon, Mister Greylocke,’ a higher-pitched, nasal voice said.

                ‘Ramscoldt,’ Gidwyn said, stepping away from his brother and bowing his head cordially. ‘Your journey was easy, I trust?’

                Phineaus Ramscoldt and Gidwyn had known one-another for a long time, though the length of their relationship was not reflected in any kind of amity. Ramscoldt, a sour-faced Gnome, was head of the Queen’s Caravans; as such, it was his job to ensure that all farms in the Upper-World from which the queen demanded tithes remained stocked at all times. Passage down from the various farms dotted over the Great Mountains was extremely difficult and hazardous – many of the Halflings that made the journey died. Gidwyn himself had not been down to the Old City and the rest of the Underkingdom since he had found Kiryae, though Eoina tried to make an annual trip to see her father.

Although there was a small village called Sky’s Anvil roughly three miles down the mountains, where travelling merchants from the Underkingdom and the Halflings who lived upon the mountains regularly convened, it was no trade hub and could not support the hundreds of Dwarf men, women, and children who lived on the mountains by necessity of the kingdom. And so, because of the dangerous journey, every month or so, Ramscoldt would appear by the queen’s instruction outside Gidwyn’s home with his greatgoat-drawn wagon and his small army of hired Dwarven mercenaries to supply goods to Gidwyn – for a price. He was, as Gidwyn often called him, a glorified travelling merchant.

                He was small, even for a Gnome, with a hooked nose and large, outward-sticking ears. His eyes were hidden behind a thickly-rimmed pair of brass spectacles, and his relatively feeble, thin body was encased within at least half a dozen layers of furs. He wore an expression Kiryae once described to Gidwyn as looking like “someone who has just had a fistful of snow dropped into their britches.”

                ‘D’ ye ‘ave much stock left, Ramscoldt?’ Gidwyn asked, eager to see the unpleasant little Gnome on his way.

                ‘There’s no rush, Mister Greylocke,’ Ramscoldt said in an infuriatingly flat voice. ‘I invoke the Right of the Queen’s Sanctuary. As her representative, I am hereby legally allowed to spend one night at your home and-…’

                ‘I bloody know, ye sod,’ Gidwyn grumbled, ‘ye pull the same thing every time ye come ‘ere. Get ye and yer boys’ backsides inside an’ close the door behind ye before ye let all the warm out.’

                Ramscoldt narrowed his beady eyes. ‘Very well,’ he snapped. He looked over his shoulder and waved a hand. Sound erupted from outside as Ramscoldt’s mercantile wagon was driven into Gidwyn’s barn and the two large greatgoats that drew it were unharnessed. A few moments later, eight hefty Dwarf-folk – four men and four women, all dressed in leather and chainmail beneath layers of thick fur – entered the farmhouse and closed the door.

                ‘How ye manage a six-day trek wit’ ‘im is beyond me, Gally,’ Gidwyn said with a grunt.

                Galahad shrugged. ‘His hirelings ain’t so bad. He’s too aloof t’ talk wit’ ‘em anyhow; spends most o’ ‘is time hidden in ‘is cart, complainin’ about the cold.’

                Gidwyn rolled his eyes. ‘Ye won’t mind spendin’ evenin' wit’ ‘im, then.’

                Galahad’s face fell. ‘I didnae say tha’!’

                Gidwyn was already on his feet. ‘C’mon Kiryae, let’s go an’ see ‘ow the kids are doin’.’

                Kiryae, who had settled amongst Karveth, Coren, and Synera near the fire-pit in the middle of the large room, looked up, her brilliant blue eyes shining as she scratched Coren’s chin in the spot he liked. ‘Of course, father,’ she said. She rose with an effortlessness and grace no Dwarf could ever muster, picked up her heavy cloak from beside the door, and joined Gidwyn.

                ‘Father?’ Gidwyn heard Ramscoldt say. ‘She still hasn’t accepted she’s not a Halfling, then?’

                Gidwyn gritted his teeth as he whistled for his three wolf-dogs, all of whom obediently rose and followed him. ‘She knows well wha’ she is, Ramscoldt,’ the Dwarf said as Karveth, Coren, and Synera padded over to him. ‘Family is more than blood – ye’d know if ye ‘ad a friend.’

                There were a few muffled chuckles from the Dwarves around the fire as Gidwyn led Kiryae out through the heavy doors and into the thick snow below. Gidwyn could feel Ramscoldt glaring at him as he left, as the irritable little Gnome always did.

Gidwyn had little choice but to offer Ramscoldt shelter for the night, as much as he despised the Gnome. He was the Gnome’s last call on his passage through the mountains, and he would never make it back to the Sky's Anvil before nightfall – and the mountains were not a place to be caught in the night. If something were to happen to Ramscoldt, Gidwyn knew the blame would probably fall on him.

Still, Gidwyn knew he was going to need a few moments of quiet before facing Ramscoldt that day. He took a deep breath of the freezing-cold but blissfully sharp mountain air and enjoyed the mist and cloud-fogged view. The day had been overcast and the clouds above were heavy and grey as the sun sank towards the horizon. Light snow tonight, nae doubt, Gidwyn thought as he hoisted his crook and stepped forwards.

                ‘Father?’ Kiryae said as she stepped through the door behind Gidwyn and pulled it closed. ‘What did Ramscoldt mean?’

                Gidwyn began to walk through the snow, grumbling and muttering to himself for a moment. ‘Ramscoldt’s an ol’ coot,’ he said.

                ‘He doesn’t like me, does he?’ Kiryae said without as much as a hint of resentment in her voice.

                Gidwyn sighed, looking into the churned-up snow at his feet. ‘Herd’s gone eastward, as usual,’ he said, hoping to ignore Kiryae’s question – though he knew better than to try. ‘We should probably round ‘em up an’ get ‘em back in if there’s t’ be snow this eve.’

                ‘Why doesn’t he like me?’ Kiryae said, gliding through the snow as if it was a fog. Her blue eyes sparkled, her pretty face quirked in curiosity.

                Gidwyn sighed. ‘Some Halflings are like tha’,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Lots o’ us believe tha’ we’re better off without the Upper-World.’

                ‘But we live on the Upper-World,’ Kiryae said. ‘If we did not have the Upper-World, the Underkingdom would get no greatgoats. Then what would they do?’

                Gidwyn tramped through the snow, his large dogs around him and Kiryae at his side. His home disappeared behind a rise as he walked further and further away. ‘Tha’s a question I don’t know ‘ow t’ answer, Kiryae,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I’m a greatgoat herder, no’ a politician.’

                ‘I’ll ask Ramscoldt,’ Kiryae said airily, turning her gaze to the clouds around them. ‘I’d be interested to see what he has to say.’

                Gidwyn sighed again. Strange girl, he thought to himself as he whistled for his three large dogs. He and Eoina often asked one-another if they were raising Kiryae right. She was unlike any Halfling or Upper-Worlder the Dwarf couple had ever met. She was reserved, quiet and insightful, yet simultaneously seemed very detached from reaity. It were as if there were a pane of glass between her and the rest of civilisation – she was standing outside looking in.

But, as Gidwyn was reminded as he followed the greatgoat’s tracks with the she-Elf child beside him, there was a wisdom to her that he could not put his finger on. There was a depth in her piercing blue eyes that was almost a world-weariness. She looked at Esdaria through melancholy eyes that seemed distant and far away - as if she had seen it all before ten-thousand times before.

Maybe it’s just what Elves are like, Gidwyn thought as he ascended a steep bluff and paused at the top to allow Kiryae to catch up. She strode effortlessly, her heavy hide-sewn dress and thick boots worn as lightly as she stepped.

It did not take the two of them long to arrive at their destination: a huge, icy plain tucked in the cleft between two peaks. Tall, jagged rocks rose and fell like trees across the tundra-like space. Here and there, a few of the hardiest birds circled, including what looked like a rock-tailed falcon to Gidwyn’s eye.

‘Father?’

‘Aye, Kiryae?’

Kiryae, blue eyes flashing with their strange, icy beauty, smiled. ‘May I sing for the greatgoats?’ she asked.

Gidwyn’s smiled broadened. ‘Always.’

Kiryae turned to face the eastward horizon. Snow-covered peaks rose high and wide above the skittering clouds, and the few rays of sun that made it to the snow danced and shone upon the sea of snowflakes. She took a breath and began to sing a sad tune in High Dwarvish.

‘Kunyiera, mythrela commen!

Kunyiera, mythrela rugel!

Kunyiera, mythrela commen;

Fyr thundaarstel foult ist commenel.’

Kiryae’s voice was crystal-clear and high-pitched, echoing around the mountainside, carried far by the whistling wind. ‘My loves, come back to me,’ Gidwyn repeated after his foster-daughter, ‘My loves, to me come running. My loves, come back to me, for a terrible storm is coming.’

Hearing Kiryae sing the old herder’s song brought a tear to Gidwyn’s eye every time. As he watched the young Elven girl call over the mountains, sure enough, a few far-off, dark specs appeared in the distance and began to quickly move towards where he, Kiryae, and his three enormous wolf-dogs were standing.

‘Perfect every time, eh,’ Gidwyn said, wiping his eyes. ‘Best voice in the Underkingdom.’ Best voice in the World.

Kiryae turned to face Gidwyn and gave him one of her rare, genuine smiles. As she turned to face Gidwyn, the three dogs who had walked around him all the way from the home crossed to Kiryae and sat by her feet. Karveth, the alpha, even nuzzled Kiryae for affection. The Elf-girl laughed and patted the huge dog’s nose.

             Strange girl, Gidwyn thought fondly and turned back to look at where his herd of greatgoats were making quick progress towards where they stood. Karveth ne’er pesters anyone else for a fuss.

Quite suddenly, Kiryae interrupted the silence. ‘Have you ever seen the world that lies below the mountains?’

‘You mean the lands o’ Men?’ Gidwyn shook his head. ‘Only from upon high where we live. I’ve ne’er walked the roads tha’ criss-cross the Upper-World.’

Kiryae nodded slowly, peering down through the clouds around them at the Imperial Heartland below. ‘It seems sad.’

Gidwyn frowned. ‘Wha’ makes ye say tha’?’

Kiryae’s gaze almost seemed to glaze over for a moment. Her fingers tickled Karveth’s ear-tips absent-mindedly and a forlorn expression passed across her smooth features. ‘Human-folk are so short-lived,’ she said. ‘They are born into the wars of their fathers and their grandfathers and fight for people they’ve never met. They toil and suffer in the names of kings and emperors, and then they die, never once seeing the fruits of their labours. They leave the toil to their children, and the cycle continues.’

‘Aye, but,’ Gidwyn said, taking Kiryae’s slender, pale hand, ‘Humans are a driven folk. Many achieve more afore breakfast than some Dwarves will in a decade.’

Kiryae looked pained. ‘But their wars,’ she said. ‘Why do they fight so long?’

Gidwyn shrugged. ‘So do Dwarves an’ Elves,’ he said, patting Synera’s head as the huge wolf-like dog nuzzled his free hand. ‘We fight an’ bleed jus’ as much as Humans.’

‘But we live long,’ Kiryae said. ‘We see our wars come to an end; the Humans die before any resolution is reached, and their kin blindly fight too!’ The Elf-girl seemed almost distraught for a moment. ‘Why, father?’ she said. ‘I don’t see the sense in it!’

‘And nor do I,’ Gidwyn said gently, a small smile on his lips. ‘Yer a very clever girl, Kiryae, with a heart o’ gold an’ more love to give than all others. Don’t let yerself be pained though, m’ love.’ He lifted his foster-daughter’s hand to his lips and kissed it. ‘I’m very proud o’ ye.’

As the herd of greatgoats flocked around them, enticed by the sound of Kiryae’s voice, the young she-Elf smiled down at Gidwyn, her yes still sad. ‘Not everyone is like you, though, are they, father?’

Gidwyn sighed, casting his eyes over the animals flocking around the Elven girl. ‘No,’ he said sadly. ‘No, they aren’t.’

*

As Gidwyn and Kiryae made their way back towards home, the goats keenly following Kiryae who sung to them every now and then, the wind brought grim tidings to them. Voices were on the air – angered, raised voices.

             ‘Oh, Fire preserve,’ Gidwyn growled and set off at a jog back towards his home. Soon, the wide, squat stone building and its stone barn swung into view, and the raised voices grew even louder. Gidwyn hurried towards his home, dogs at his heels, and threw the heavy oaken door open.

‘All I’m saying,’ Ramscoldt snapped as Gidwyn opened the door, ‘is that Queen Ffyon and the Council of Flame have a right to know that there is an Elf living within the jurisdiction of her kingdom!’

             ‘And ye’ll wha’?’ Eoina growled, pointing a fat finger into the Gnome’s chest. ‘Tell ‘er? Ye’re a coward, Ramscoldt.’

             ‘It’s simple bureaucracy,’ the Gnome said, putting his hands in the air. Around the room, the armed mercenaries the Gnome had brought with him began to fidget. ‘Queen Ffyon has a right to know-…

             ‘Wha’s all this?’ Gidwyn yelled as he strode out of the evening and into his warm home, Kiryae and his three dogs with him. ‘I could ‘ear the yellin’ ‘alf a mile away!’

             Eoina, her face flushed with fury, span to glare at Gidwyn. ‘This hook-nosed rat,’ she spat, ‘this spineless, snivellin’ piece o’ dung wants to take our daughter away from us!’

             Gidwyn looked from Eoina to Galahad, who was standing with his fist clenched behind her. ‘He wha’?’ Gidwyn said, eyes wide.

             ‘What I said,’ Ramscoldt began, his lips tight, ‘was that, as a form of due process and as an observation of judicial laws in the Underkingdom, yourself and your good lady wife-…’

             ‘Shut up, y’ worm,’ Eoina spat.

             ‘…have a duty to the kingdom to inform the queen that there is an Elf living amongst us!’ Ramscoldt concluded and folded his arms, glaring at Eoina.

             ‘Ye’ve known about Kiryae fer a decade, Ramscoldt!’ Gidwyn said through his teeth. ‘Why bring this up now?’

             ‘I thought you’d informed the queen of-…’

             ‘Mister Ramscoldt,’ Kiryae said, stepping forwards and cutting the Gnome off. ‘May I ask something of you?’

               The Gnome’s eyes widened and for a moment, he looked taken aback. He visibly shook a little under the scrutiny of Kiryae’s ice-blue eyes. ‘What is it?’ he said, his tone sharp.

               ‘What is it that I have done to offend you so?’ she asked in a kind, gentle voice.

                Ramscoldt went red. ‘You have done nothing, so to speak,’ he stammered. ‘It’s more that Upper-Worlders have no place in Halfling society.’

                ‘I have never visited the Underkingdom that lies beneath the Hrudun Druria,’ Kiryae said, her gaze strange and thoughtful, yet completely unperturbed. ‘I have never looked upon the Old City. The furthest I’ve ever been from home is to the village of Sky’s Anvil, where I have broken bread with your Halfling-kin, shared in your songs and your tales, played with your children, and prayed to the Fire, just as you have.’

                Ramscoldt looked visibly uncomfortable. He glanced back at his hired men but found no consolation from those sitting by the fire. A few shrugged their shoulders, but none spoke. ‘You are an Elf, though,’ Ramscoldt said slowly. ‘I’m not trying to imply that makes you any less of a person or-…’

             ‘Tha’s exactly what yer tryin’ ta do!’ Eoina cried. ‘Yer actin’ like ‘cos she’s no Dwarf she ‘as no right to be ‘ere!’

             ‘She doesn’t!’ Ramscoldt cried. ‘The Underkingdom is for Halflings! The Upper-World is for the Upper-Folk, and that is what she is!’

             ‘She lives in the Upper-World, are ye thick as stone?’ Gidwyn yelled, waving his arms wide. Around him, his three dogs, sensing their master’s anger, began to snarl, their long, sharp teeth bared and their hackles raised.

Slowly, Karveth, the largest of the wolf-dogs with his one golden and one blue eye, stepped forwards. The enormous wolf-dog loomed over the Gnome, his jaws large enough to close around the small figure’s head. It was at this point that Ramscoldt’s guards stood up, their hands on their weapons and began to cry out. ‘Control tha’ animal!’ one said. ‘Control ‘im or we’ll put ‘im down!’

‘Call your beast back,’ Ramscoldt cried, his voice trembling, ‘call them back or I’ll-…’ he swallowed, stepping backwards towards his mercenaries – none of whom looked particularly comfortable putting themselves in-between their master and the enormous dog, but knew well enough that should the hand that payed their salaries be bitten off by a gigantic dog, they were unlikely to receive any gold for their services. The mercenaries instead continued to yell and brandish their weapons, ready to leap forwards should the source of their money be put in further danger.

             ‘Karveth!’ Gidwyn cried, taking hold of the huge animal’s scruff and trying to haul him away. ‘Back, boy, back!’

But Karveth would not listen. The huge dog loomed, slavering, snarling, his eyes fixed on Ramscoldt. ‘Karveth!’ Gidwyn cried again, but it was no use. The yelling of the Dwarven mercenaries was upsetting the huge dog further, and beside Gidwyn, both Coren and Synera began to slowly pad forwards, following their lead of their alpha.

             ‘Gidwyn!’ Eoina cried through the noise. ‘Gidwyn, stop ‘im! Stop ‘im afore he kills someone!’

             Gidwyn hauled on the dog’s scruff to no avail, but as he did so Kiryae called out. ‘Karvie,’ she said in a gentle voice that was almost lost to the din in the room. ‘Karvie.’

             Very suddenly, Karveth lowered his hackles, stopped his growling, and padded over to where Kiryae was standing. The huge dog nuzzled her outstretched hand before curling up at the she-Elf’s feet as if nothing had happened. Both Coren and Synera followed his example, sitting either side of Kiryae, their shining eyes fixed on Ramscoldt.

Silence fell.

            Gidwyn looked from his brother, to his wife, to his foster-daughter, his mouth hanging open. He had never seen Karveth be subdued so easily. Once, when Gidwyn had taken him to Sky’s Anvil on one of the sparse market days the small village held, Karveth had locked his teeth around a stray wolf-dog. It had taken six brawny Dwarven farmers and an ox-bone the size of a Human leg to wrench the enormous beast from his prey – who had died within moments.

             Ramscoldt broke the silence. ‘That thing,’ he said in a shaking voice, ‘that monstrous beast almost killed me! I demand compensation from you, Gidwyn Greylocke! I demand-…’

             Gidwyn was about to yell when Galahad walked forwards and stood square in front of the Gnome, his one hand balled into a fist. ‘Ye’d best take yer cart an’ be gone, I think,’ he said in a low, dark voice. ‘An’ ye’d do well to leave yer good hosts something by way o’ a token as an apology for yer rudeness.’

             Ramscoldt seethed. ‘I invoked the right of-…’

             ‘I don’t care,’ Galahad said with a curl of his lip. ‘If ye want to stay in my brother’s house, ye show his daughter some respect. She’s more goodness in ‘er lil’ finger than you’ve in yer whole wretched body. Get out, or per’aps next time Kiryae won’t call the dogs off fer ya.’

             Ramscoldt twitched, glaring at Galahad for a moment, before spinning on his heel and marching out into the snow. His mercenaries followed him. One of them muttered an apology to Eoina and thanked her for her hospitality as he went.

             As the door was closed, Galahad turned to Gidwyn. ‘This ain’t finished,’ he said.

             ‘Nae,’ Gidwyn sighed. ‘Nae, it ain’t.’