Grundi packed his rucksack for his journey, violently shoving his possessions deep inside the leather sack, waging a personal war on each article of clothing, beating everything into submission. He didn't have much time, he was doing his best to pack light, only taking the essentials but he was having difficulty deciding on what to choose; he'd been struggling to make decisions lately; anger clouded over his thoughts, he was living in a world of shadow.
He wanted to hurt something, to fight, to kill. He wanted to smash a goblin, crush an orc, even fight a troll; he didn't care, as long as something died, as long as he made something bleed. He was probably the only dwarf in the kingdom praying for an invasion, wanting the gates breached just so he could go to war. But right now he had nothing to fight but his trousers. After Ailiana was killed by that bloody wizard, there was a hole torn deep in his heart; he thought watching her killer being executed would give him a sense of fulfillment, a sense of justice, but the hole was still there. So he filled it with anger until he felt nothing but hatred towards the wizards and any other magical type.
Grundi clenched his hands, gnashed his teeth, and growled. He didn't hear the knock on the door or see the figure enter his room but he did feel the tap on his shoulder. He turned around quickly, his fists raised for a fight, his eyes wild with fury. Bofac stepped back, his hands up.
"Easy, mate," he said. "It's just me."
"Ain't you ever heard of knocking?" snapped Grundi.
"I knocked," said Bofac, "but there was no answer."
Grundi lowered his fists and turned back to his packing. "What are you doing here?"
Bofac looked uneasy. "Listen, mate. I wanted to see you before you left. I uh, I know what you're planning on doing."
"Aye? And what's that?" asked Grundi, refusing to look at his friend.
"You're joining the inquisitors to hunt down the last wizard," said Bofac.
"So what if I am? I am an inquisitor now, it's my job, ain't it?" Grundi stopped packing for a moment. "Do you know who he is? The wizard I mean."
Bofac shook his head. "No, and it don't matter. There's been enough killin'. Whoever this wizard is, he ain't even in the mountains. He left the bloody caves behind so he ain't our problem no more. Can't you just let him go? I mean, I know it ain't your decision, but you don't have to go you can just quit the Inquisition and stay here. How many more dwarves have to die?"
"Just one," growled Grundi.
"Wodin's beard! Can you even hear yourself? You ain't the same dwarf no more. Dwarves killin' dwarves, it ain't natural." Bofac was exasperated.
Grundi turned on his friend, his finger poking him at his chest. "Ain't natural? Ain't natural? You bloody bastard. You know ain't natural? Dwarves using that magical filth, pulling fucking ice out of nothing, using the weapons of our enemies to blow up their houses and crush innocent fucking she-dwarves so badly that her family can't even see the body afterwards."
"Is that what this is about? Killing this last wizard won't bring Ailiana back." Bofac immediately regretted saying that.
"Fuck you," shouted Grundi.
The two friends stood awkwardly for a moment. Bofac hung his head. His friend was too far gone, he died the day they found Ailiana's mangled body. He left the room without another word, leaving Grundi alone with his grief. Bofac pulled his hood over his head in sorrow as he headed home.
Alone, Grundi's temper exploded; he punched the stone wall hard, cracking the plaster, sending broken shards stained with blood raining down on the clean floor. The white wall was streaked with scarlet, staining its purity. He continued packing, his torn knuckles going unnoticed. He was going to be late, in a few minutes he had to hunt down and kill his best friend.
. . .
"Killing a wizard is not murder, it is the path to Asgardr," Mordin read from The Wizard's Hammer. He had gathered his most trusted inquisitors, twelve in all, one for each of the gods. Including Kargan, Girti, and Grundi. By paying homage to them in this way, Mordin knew that the gods would show favour in their journey. It was more than enough to hunt down and capture one missing wizard. "Only through purifying the land of magic can one hope to find true and everlasting glory from the gods." He closed his book and looked at the dwarves waiting for his command. "Come, glory awaits." he led them through the Red Gate.
Mordin didn't fully trust Grundi but he knew their quarry, which made him an asset. Henrik Krammsson had written: when hunting a wizard any tool can be used as a weapon; if a tool cannot be trusted, one must break off the cursed pieces until only the righteous remain. Mordin had no problem in breaking off what was useless.
They travelled quickly, only stopping when they had to, and they travelled light, taking with them only what was needed: weapons, dried food, sleeping rolls, and a few other lightweight essentials. They moved through the day, stopping only in the evening to eat and rest. The bloody wizard had over a week's head start on them and they had no idea where he was going. They had a lot of distance to make up.
They all wore the scarlet cloaks and runic armour; they were on official business after all. They arrived at Zwergberg on the evening of the second day. Many dwarves travel through the town regularly so finding just one would be nearly impossible. It was like trying to find a needle in a pile of needles.
"Boss," said Kargan. "I've got an idea." Mordin nodded. "Some fat dwarf left caves a while back and opened an inn on the edge of town, near the road. The wizard might have gone there, something familiar and all; maybe someone saw him leave that way. At least we'd know if we're on the right path. Worth checking it out, eh?"
Mordin thought of it for a moment. "Aye, let's go ask a few questions."
The people cleared out of the way as the stern-looking armed dwarves moved through the streets with determination. It didn't take them long to find the inn.
The inn fell silent as the inquisitors stepped into the common room. The change of mood was instantaneous; all cheer was ripped out the moment they closed the door behind them. Some of the customers left coins on their tables before quickly finding an exit.
Fat Throm looked up from behind his bar, "be with you in a —" he stopped when he saw the scarlet cloaks. "Oh bugger me," he said.
Mordin moved with slow determination across the room, people and dwarves clearing out of his way, as he stopped in front of Fat Throm.
"Get out," said the albino in a soft voice. The rest of the common room cleared in a hurry, many of them forgetting to pay in their haste. Mordin said nothing for a long time, even after the last customer left; he let his red eyes burrow into the fat dwarf. Fat Throm's cheeks quivered and his brow dotted with sweat under the albino's gaze.
"About a week ago, two dwarves came to your inn," said Mordin, his soft voice boomed in the empty room.
"Lots of dwarves come through here," started Fat Throm but stopped when he saw a flash of irritation on the albino's face.
"You'll remember these two," continued Mordin calmly as if Fat Thom didn't interrupt him. "They would have said they was hunting, maybe even had muskets with them." Mordin saw the recognition in the fat dwarf's eyes. "I just want to know where the younger of the two went, is all"
Fat Throm shook his head. "I don't know. He left in the middle of the night. I didn't see him leave, yeah?"
Mordin leaned in closer, holding the fat dwarf's gaze.
"You know something, though," said Mordin, "and I'm gonna find out what it is."
Kargan moved around the bar until he was looming over Fat Throm, the fat dwarf backed away and bumped into another armoured inquisitor standing behind him. Kargan lightly picked up a pewter mug from the bar and slowly crushed it in his massive hand, his eyes never leaving Fat Throm's. Fat Throm swallowed hard, sweat poured down his face, his heart beating hard against his chest.
"I don't —" began Fat Throm but was quickly interrupted.
"You see," said Mordin, his voice calm. "The boy's a wizard. He escaped from the mountain, he escaped from justice, he escaped from us. Do you know what happens to those who get in the way of the inquisition?" He placed The Wizard's Hammer onto the bar and drummed his fingers on the hardcover.
Fat Throm looked at the crushed mug on the bar. "I, I," he stammered. "Ea, east gate," said Fat Throm. Mordin didn't reply, instead, he raised an eyebrow. Fat Throm swallowed hard again. "He probably went out through the east gate, yeah? I reckon he might want to go to the elves in their magical lands or, or the mage's college; to be with his own kind, or he's heading to one of the big cities; they are all east of here."
There was a long pause; Fat Throm looked around nervously, his eyes darting from Mordin to Kargan and to the other armed dwarves who surrounded him.
"Very good," said Mordin finally; he gave a smile that didn't reach his eyes, his voice was monotonous, showing no emotion. "I'm pleased. I knew you knew something, helpful. May Wodin's blessings be upon you." Mordin looked around the inn as if seeing it for the first time. "I like your place; it has a dwarven feel to it. Reckon we might stay the night." Fat Throm deflated. "We'll take our supper in our rooms." Without waiting for a response from the innkeeper, Mordin and the inquisitors walked up the stairs to find empty rooms.
Kargan left a couple of gold coins on the counter and followed. The coin was more than enough to pay for the rooms and food, but Fat Throm would rather they just take the money and leave. Still, it wasn't like a dwarf to waste gold, so he pocketed the money and fell weakly to the floor as his legs slowly gave out. He let out a trembling sigh.
The room wasn't big but it would do for the night. Kargan wanted to get moving, he hated being out of the mountain. He was pleased with the way things worked out with the fat innkeeper. He really didn't want to hurt him. He was innocent and didn't know anything about the wizard. He unslung his weapon from his back, a massive maul that only a few had the strength to wield properly. He leaned it against a wall, the steel hammer thunking loudly on the wooden floor of his room. He had just stripped off his armour when there was a timid knock on the door. Fat Throm stood with a tray of food, roasted ox, boiled potatoes, and a mug of beer. Kargan took it and nodded his thanks before closing the door on him.
The food smelled good. The innkeeper seemed a decent sort and by the smell of what was on the tray, and the size of his belly, he knew his way around a kitchen. Kargan said a quick prayer to Freyr and ate his food. He really did seem like a good sort, Kargan was glad he didn't have hurt him.
Grundi poked at his food. He wondered briefly what would have happened if Fat Throm couldn't give them any information. Would they have hurt him? Beaten him until he told them something useful? He had to be willing to do what was necessary. He hunted wizards now. He didn't think of Thrack as a dwarf anymore, he gave up that right the moment he polluted his body with that magical filth. Thrack was no longer a dwarf, he was prey. That was why he signed up for the inquisition. He ate his food without tasting it.
. . .
Thrack struggled to call what he followed a road, but it was the only one that led to the wizard's college. In the dwarven mountains, a dwarf could walk blind and not worry about stumbling over even a minor imperfection. Sadly, every step was a fight in the human world; it drained him and grated at his temper. He could feel every ill-fitted stone through his thick boots; it hurt his feet and his legs grew tired from compensating. Thrack missed the mountains more every day. His only companion was the ever silent Kline. He actually grew to enjoy being around the wee man, watching him live in a world much too big for him. He passed through the odd village and would stay at whatever inn they had, but most nights he'd just sleep under the stars.
As the day gave way for the night, Thrack waited for his meal to cook. Out of boredom, he formed a perfectly round snowball in the palm of his hand while Kline watched in fascination, the small jar of honey opened beside him. At some point during their travels, Thrack wasn't sure when, the tiny man replaced his fox with a badger, he didn't see Kline replace his mount, just noticed that he was riding a different one all of the sudden. The badger was curled in a tight grey and black ball near the warm fire that had a rabbit and some of the bacon roasting on a spic.
Thrack threw the snowball into the dark forest, listening to it land somewhere in the black. He had watched the sun set in the west, dipping behind the distant mountains, The Shield Mountains, his home; the sky deepening from crimson to deep sapphire. It broke his heart. His musket, freshly polished and cleaned, leaned against the fallen tree he sat on.
He had never been so homesick in his life. He missed every aspect of living in the caves; he found himself longing to be with his friends, his family, and even going to work, and Ula, gods, especially Ula. He missed the celebrations, all the festivals that made life to exciting. He made a spray of frost shoot in the air and mist down around him. His mind wandered to the spring festival, it was the last time he felt truly at peace. He thought of the elvish fireworks that Grundi's friend Ailiana got; the colours were spectacular, better than the dwarven ones in some ways. The way they lit up the mountains in blinding light, the loud boom echoed off the stone walls.
With the thought of the fireworks firmly in his mind, he raised his hand above him and hot white sparks flew into the air, sizzling loudly as they hit the moist ground.
Kline jumped up, his face an expression of shock on his tiny face. The badger stood with its teeth exposed and hissed. Even Thrack jumped at the unexpected show. "Whoa," he said. He looked around wide-eyed. "Weren't expectin' that." He looked at the two shocked companions. "Wonder if I can do that again."
. . .
It was early morning when the inquisitors left the inn, the sun was only beginning its ascent into the sky, and the horizon was glowing deep scarlet, the same colour of the inquisitors' cloaks; Mordin said it was a sign that Wodin blessed their journey and said a prayer to the gods. Fat Throm was already up and making breakfast when Kargan made it downstairs to the common room.
Did that fat dwarf even sleep? He wondered. As the inquisitors headed towards the east gates Kargan spotted something out of the ordinary; a blonde youth looked at the dwarves with fear, not the usual fear that the inquisition was used to, no this was something deeper like he was afraid of the dwarves themselves and not their positions.
This boy has had a run-in with a dwarf recently. Kargan trusted his gut and approached the youth. The blonde boy tried to move away from the dwarf but Kargan easily caught the boy with one of his meaty hands, grabbing him firmly by the arm.
"You look like you've got something interesting to say," said Kargan, as the rest of the inquisition waited patiently for him.
"Let me go," cried the youth. He twisted in the dwarf's grip, but it was like fighting an iron vice.
"Not 'til you tell me what I need to know."
"What do you want?" The boy was practically crying from panic.
"You look like you've seen an armoured dwarf recently," said Kargan.
The boy's eyes widened in terror. "Don't kill me, please don't kill me."
"Enough," Kargan practically roared at the youth. He shook the boy with one hand, flopping him around like a straw man. "If you've seen an armoured dwarf you know we're capable of. Have you seen a dwarf or nae?"
"There are lots of dwarves 'round these parts," said the boy. His eyes bulged with absolute terror.
"You know the one I mean. I ain't gonna kill you; I just want the dwarf," said Kargan. "He'd be travelling alone. He's got black hair and beard, and he'd be well-armed and armoured."
"What do you want with him?" asked the boy.
Kargan saw an opportunity. "I want to kill him," he gambled.
"Honest?" asked the boy, calming slightly. Kargan nodded. "Yeah, I saw the dwarf. He killed me mates."
"Where?"
"Just up the road a bit, maybe a day or two." the boy pointed through the east gate.
"When was this?"
"'Bout a week ago," said the boy.
"Good lad," said Kargan, gently placing the boy back on the ground. "Run along." He didn't need to be told twice.
Kargan rejoined the group. "Looks like the innkeeper knew what he was talking about. The wizard took this road," he said, and they started down the road.
It was the auburn-haired dwarf that saw the bodies on the road first.
"Been dead a week at least," Kargan declared after inspecting them.
"Aye," said Mordin. "By the smell of 'em, I reckon you're right."
Kargan examined the bodies closer. "This here be hammer work," he said. "Thrack's hammer trained ain't he?" he looked over his shoulder to Grundi who nodded.
"Something ain't right 'bout them though," said the albino. "Do you see it?"
Kargan trusted Mordin in this area explicitly; he had studied more dead bodies than anyone else, but he couldn't see what his boss was getting at; he shook his head.
"They've been here a week by our reckoning, out here in the open. Why has no animal tried to eat them?" Asked Mordin. "They's all unmolested."
"Dunno," said Kargan. "That's queer, ain't it?"
"Maybe 'cause of the magic," ventured Girti.
Kargan took a quick step back from the corpses. Mordin nodded as if that was exactly what he was thinking.
"Probably our wizard then," said the auburn-haired dwarf.
"Come on," said Mordin. "Time's wasting."
"Right you are boss," said Kargan, giving one of the bodies a quick kick before leaving.
The kick was a mistake, it woke the dead. Slowly the three dead men began to stir and slowly stand. The runes on the inquisitors' armour glowed dimly.
"The fuck —" said Grundi as they all took several steps back, drawing their weapons.
The dead men jerked and moved in starts and stops as if learning how their bodies worked for the first time. They slowly pushed themselves off of the ground and stood, their limbs in awkward angles. They shuffled towards the dwarves, arms reaching out.
Kargan unslung his maul "Draugr," he said as the rest of the dwarves prepared to fight. Kargan was hesitant at first to fight such an unfamiliar foe, not knowing anything about them, not even sure they could be killed. How do you kill the dead?. Draugr were from the stories that parents told their children to frighten them when they weren't listening; 'you better clean your room or a Draugr will get you.' They weren't supposed to be real.
Mordin moved first, unlike other dwarves he carried a sword and shield, weapons favoured by men and elves. He swung at one of the dead men. He hit him in the arm, severing it, but the dead man took no notice and kept coming. Congealed blood slowly oozing from the wound, it was almost black in colour.
"Interesting," said the albino calmly, taking a quick step back as the dead man tried to claw at his face with his remaining arm. He stabbed the man in the belly to the hilt and pulled his sword free, spilling rotting guts onto the road; still, the man continued. "Very interesting."
Kargan didn't see anything interesting in it, he just wanted them dead, for the final time. He swung his maul in a long overhead stroke, hitting the dead man in the middle of the head, obliterating his skull and crushing him to the ground. He stayed down for good this time. The rest of the dwarves jumped in, desolating the two remaining dead men in short order. They didn't get up either.
Mordin poked at one of the corpses with his boot, satisfied that he was really dead this time, he sheathed his sword.
"Bloody magic," muttered the albino. "This is an insult to the gods. The wizard will pay for such desecration." He turned and stormed down the road, the inquisitors following.
Grundi wasn't sure if the wizard had anything to do with the dead men rising. Nothing like that had ever happened in Rathgar, even when the wizards were running around unaccosted. This was something else. He said nothing though, fearing retribution from the albino and followed the inquisitors down the road.