Cadaren had only been in the dwarves' capital for five minutes but it was long enough for him to know that he hated it. And the further in towards the center he got, the more his detestation grew because the closer to the palace, the more glass and the more stares.
Well, to be fair, Cadaren got ogled at no matter where he was, even back at home in the countryside. But at least the people there didn't stare openly. They simply stole glances here and there. In Dunrel, everyone he passed gawked at him seemingly without feeling any embarrassment. Hardly a welcoming introduction from the place where he would spend the rest of his life.
First, he'd passed the small dingy shacks of the extreme poor on the outskirts. There, he'd been too consumed by anger to pay attention to his surroundings. Soon, the shadows created by the buildings began to increase steadily, stretching across the cobblestones in front of Cadaren and he began to look up. And regretted it.
The stares he received as he strode by the tall narrow townhouses of the merchants and traders were mostly ones of curiosity. Those he could shrug off. But once he'd passed the squat, long, and rounded burrows of the nobles and entered the inner-city district, the stares became more judgmental and disapproving. Not only that, but he found himself surrounded by glass.
The fantastical mansions of the courtiers and intricate shop-fronts of the artisans employed by the crown would win first prize for cramming as much glass, ironwork, and gold scrollwork in as possible. These stood in a circle around a huge plaza in the center of which was the palace itself. The result was that Cadaren found him enclosed by giant mirrors and hemmed in by stares not only from those in the square but from phantom versions of himself as well. He wanted to scream.
The palace loomed before him, the largest mirror of all. The tall pinnacle of vermillion and highly reflective jet obsidian was carved into row after row of windowed levels. Its smooth sides rose to such a great height that it seemed to nearly brush the top of the volcano in which the capital was built. What Cadaren wanted to do was run away from it but what he had to do was gain entry.
Seeing no other option other than the main entrance, he headed in that direction. Solid iron rose before him, emblazoned with a hammer on an anvil with three stars; the symbols of the royal house. On either side, guards were stationed, each with their lion badges. Clearing his throat, he approached one, hoping to get directions. The guard glanced down at the badge pinned to Cadaren's chest.
"Let him in," the thickly bearded dwarf called over his shoulder.
The doors swung open silently to reveal a long hallway with even more doors branching off in either direction. Cadaren hesitated on the threshold for a second but the frown of the guard made him hurry inside. Hopefully, he'd find the information he needed inside...
He had two seconds of daylight before the doors shut and he was left in darkness. Blinking furiously, Cadaren looked around for something anything that would indicate where he was supposed to go.
Someone knocked into him. Momentarily, Cadaren stumbled, trying to regain his balance. Then, he crashed to the floor. He heard the shatter of glass followed by the delicate plinks of crystal fracturing.
"Ye moron!" yelled the female dwarf who'd run into him, "What t'hell do ye think ye're doing 'ere? Especially a standing there like an unwanted weed! And look at..."
The latter part trailed off into a string of muttered harsh dwarfish curse words as she picked herself up from the puddle of wine and the shards of the wine bottle and goblet.
"Gah!" she finished in pure exasperation, "No, dinae attempt to explain yerself now. It wilna do nay good"
That was in response to Cadaren having opened his mouth.
"Come back inte the kitchen wit me, grab a couple o' rags, and make yerself useful cleaning up yer mess."
Cadaren's brain managed to register a definite emphasis on the 'yer' before 'mess' as he followed the stranger back through one of the side doors which lined the hallway. Her accent was strange as if she came from a different province which, now that he thought about it, was not unlikely.
They emerged in what seemed to be a kitchen. The room itself was twice the size of Cadaren's old dwelling and full of people. He barely managed to keep on the heels of the dwarf he was supposed to follow. She navigated easily through the crowd of servants while Cadaren narrowly missed sending more than one person sprawling.
He was aware, somewhere in his subconscious since his actual brain concentrated on where he was going, that the staring had started again. Even if he should have been used to it by now, being ogled at always made Cadaren's blood boil. He longed to shout: "Yes, I'm albino. Now move on with your lives!".
Stopping by the rag basket, the dwarf shoved a stack at Cadaren saying: "'ere. Take 'ese, and I'll take 'nother bunch."
As they headed back towards the main hall, he realized that the dwarf he'd bumped into hadn't stared. She hadn't so much as glanced at him. Well, she'd just cussed him out instead. Somehow, that was much better than being stared at.
"Are ye gonnae help or not?" the dwarf snapped, brushing up the shards.
"Right," he replied and guiltily began mopping up the spilt wine.
As he did so, he took the opportunity to get a look at the dwarf. To his surprise, she wore the same uniform as him, down to the bronze hound badge on her chest. So, she is a cupbearer too. Cadaren dared another glance and took in her short messy brown hair, characteristic swarthy skin, toned body, and her sparkling grey eyes which bore into his.
Cadaren's brain only registered that last thought when she snapped:
"What d'ya think yer staring at? I'd 'ave thought ye'd ken better from the experiences I'm guessin' ye've got on a daily basis with that 'er skin."
She was blunt and no-nonsense with a few quirks concluded Cadaren, just like her hair. Even if he detested staring, he enjoyed people-watching. Discretely of course. Surprisingly often, his guesses as to what each person was like were correct. It came of not having many other pastimes.
"My apologies," he replied offering no excuse since he had none to give, "and you are right about my skin. You've probably noticed the results already."
"Aye, well ye're not the only one who gets stared at," she retorted, but softened slightly as she explained: "I suppose ye haven't noticed yet, but this 'ere city is the epitome of the suffocatin' patriarchy of dwarfish culture. I'm a bit o' a rebel. Most gals are basically required to wear the dress version of 'eir uniform but I wears the standard tunic. Te many, that's as much o' a shock as pale skin."
"I..." Cadaren paused and pondered a minute, "I suppose I have always seen the women in my village in dresses but I always thought they simply preferred them. My apologies!"
"Nah," she replied shaking her head, "It's nay that bad really. If I didn't 'ave something te rebel against I thinks I'd be bored."
She guffawed, throwing her head back but returned to business as quickly as her laugh had begun.
"Come on, ge' up," she ordered, picking up the bundle of broken glass wrapped in the wine-soaked rags, "Ye and I share a room since it's just the two of us cupbearers. Before this 'ere week, t'was just me and gawd was that not fun. Me name's Fraen, by the way."
Fraen led him down the long corridor and opened the fourth door on the right. A halo of green light nearly exploded from the room. Instead of being made of the same obsidian as the hallway, it had been constructed from olivine.
"I 'ops ye likes green," chuckled Fraen, "'tis cheaper than obsidian so 'tis in all the servant's quarters."
Light filtered through a small hexagonal window to the right of the door. To the left, a small bathroom was enclosed by two curving walls which also served as dividers between two small cots.
"Normally," Fraen explained as she dumped the bundle down the laundry chute next to the window, "They's never lodge male and female job-'olders toget'er but we're the only two so they decided to attempt it. Dinnae get'any ideas: I'm a lesbian but dinnae spread that around or I can makes life really uncomfortable for ye and I sleep wit' a knife under me pillow!"
Cadaren held up both his hands in surrender: "Trust me, I never thought of it! I am not that type of person and even if I were, you do not look like someone I would mess with!"
At that Fraen chuckled: "Good one whatever-yer-name-'tis-"
"Cadaren," he interjected.
"Cadaren," she amended, "So, we have to git a new bottle of wine to 'is majesty for 'is before-I-pretends-to-go-to-bed-time but then we have t'night off. I'm going to go see Skrila, me girlfriend, at t'Boar's Tusks. Ye can come along if ye want. Ye might find t'interesting."
"I would love to," replied Cadaren, thinking anything would be better than being stuck in the abominable palace, "But I thought that we weren't allowed to leave the palace?"
"That 'as never stopped me!" retorted Fraen, "'ere, ye get washed up while I take care of 'is majesty's wretched wine. Yer all dusty from your trip."
She exited the room leaving Cadaren to look about him. By the window, a shelf ran above the laundry chute. Upon it were stacked multiples of the uniform. Cadaren took a set and folded it across his arm. He paused at the window but could only see the square beyond since dusk had already set in.
Making a fist, he aimed a punch at the glass. At the last minute, he changed its direction so that his knuckles collided with the wall next to it. Pain shot up his arm but it cleared his head. So this was to be his life, all because of a stupid letter.
Brooding, he washed up quickly and had just finished when Fraen returned.
She opened the window as Cadaren toweled off his curly hair.
"Comin'?" she asked, a mischievous light shining in her eyes.
"Hang on," called Cadaren as he hurried to hang his towel over the bathroom doorknob and joined Fraen.
She started to swing herself out of the window then stopped to glare at Cadaren's chest.
"Take off yer badge," she whispered, "Wit' 't, ye can't go anywhere. Wit'out 't ye could be anyone."
Cadaren hastily tossed the badge onto his bed and swung out the window. Fraen had landed silently but he produced a soft thump. Fraen rolled her eyes and they waited a few seconds to see if anyone had seen or heard. Guards exchanged posts by the gate and light and chatter traveled across the square from shops and pubs. So far, so good.
Pressing herself flat against the palace wall, Fraen edged herself towards a giant evergreen bush to the left. Cadaren followed until they were both inside the bush itself. Fraen knelt in the center and pulled a latch fixed into the cobblestones. To Cadaren's surprise, an entire section lifted to reveal a narrow flight of stairs leading down into a dim greenish glow. Fraen clambered down and held the trap door open for him to follow. For a second, he hesitated but then climbed down after her. The trap door closed silently. Cadaren almost wished that it had made some sort of sound.
Down and down they went; two then three flights of stairs. The source of the greenish glow, a square of light on ceiling far ahead, gradually seemed to be getting closer. Soon, Cadaren was climbing up stairs instead of down.
Finally, they reached the light and Cadaren found himself stepping into a small subterranean tavern. A large female dwarf stood leaning against the wall, muscles bulging. Her black hair flowed down her back in dreadlocks and a silver halter-top, rough woolen breeches, and heavy leather belt served as her clothing. As for her face, Cadaren shrank back. She'd tattooed black lines around her eyes, one that ran from her lips to her chin, and several along her ear as cuffs.
Fraen smiled at her.
"You're late, my friend," grumbled the dwarf unfolding her arms and beckoning Fraen to follow her.
"Aye well, I brought some company and some cover," replied Fraen, jerking a thumb towards Cadaren.
"I see, well... follow me," sighed Skrila.
She led them out of what seemed to serve as a cloak closet into the main room of the tavern. The green light grew brighter, but the room remained usually quiet. Small groups clustered together around the various tables whispering. It unnerved Cadaren and he began to turn around when Skrila placed a hand on his shoulder.
"I'm Skrila and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," she stated, steadily steering him towards a booth on the far side of the common room, "I take it that you are the other cupbearer that has finally joined Fraen?"
"Y-yes," replied Cadaren who had fully expected to hear gutter slang and bad grammar (though without Fraen's accent) from Skrila, not this high vocabulary and nobleman's speech.
By this time, he found himself sitting opposite Fraen and Skrila. A waiter brought over three mugs of beer, looked sideways at Cadaren, and left. It was then that he realized that Skrila hadn't stared at him either. That being said, she didn't seem overly friendly.
"How'd you feel when you got your letter?" inquired Skrila, leaning forward, chin in hand.
The question caught Cadaren off-guard. Why was she asking about that?
"Sorry, what letter?" he replied, faking confusion.
"Eh quit that!" scolded Fraen, "Ye ken 'xactly what she means."
Of course he did. Every dwarf knew what 'that letter' meant. They all dreaded the day it would arrive and they would have to leave to do whatever wherever it dictated. Rarely would it bring joy and as for Cadaren, he'd spent the following night crying.
"Terrific," he answered through gritted teeth.
"Didn't get the profession you wanted did you, now?" Skrila asked.
"Does anyone honestly ever want to be stuck being a cupbearer for the rest of their lives?" Cadaren threw back, anger making his voice thick.
As much as he tried to control it or even forget about his feelings, the fury would resurface, stronger each time.
"What did you want to be?" Skrila inquired sympathetically.
"Blacksmith!"
It burst out violently. Cadaren dropped his heads into his hands. All his dreams, hours of practice, and the last memories of his father shattered or tainted by one blasted piece of paper. Oh, and a ridiculous bronze badge.
Out of the corner of his eye, Cadaren notice Fraen and Skrila exchange a look and a nod.
"I am sorry but what I have to tell you is not going to make you any happier," began Skrila, "You know the old tale about the counsel wisely choosing your profession and sending you a letter written by the king on your twentieth birthday? That's-"
"Bullshit," Fraen interrupted, "She would 'ave said sometin' more polite like but ye should say it as 'tis."
Skrila coughed but continued: "It is false in any case. The fate of everyone who comes of age is chosen at random: by names being pulled out of the hat. I was lucky, I got the profession that you and I both wanted: blacksmith."
That explained her arm muscles.
"But you and Fraen, and so many others were not as lucky. Fraen wanted to be a gardener and the waiter who served us wished to work with horses. I can name thousands in this city who are in the wrong profession because of a ridiculous system."
There she paused to let her words sink it. Cadaren stopped with his glass halfway to his mouth. At RANDOM? He wanted to throw up. No, he really, really wanted to punch something. He controlled himself and settled for setting his glass back down. Inside, fury raged unchecked.
"Bullshit," he thought with Fraen's accent, "Bullshit t'was the right word."
Out-loud he exclaimed: "Can't we do anything about it? The system is obviously corrupt and I won't, no I can't stand for it! I can't face wasting the rest of my life pouring drinks for a tyrant with no heart."
Skrila beamed: "That's why Fraen brought you here. Not only is she my gal but she also seeks out those to join our cause. She must have seen what I see now too: your passion-"
She means anger but is being polite.
"-and thought you a likely candidate. 'Cover' doesn't mean a way so people don't recognize that the two of us are a couple because doesn't matter here. This is the one place of liberal ideas in the entire city other than peoples' heads. Cover is code for conspirator. We, here, are working on a revolution. The profession system is only one example of how our government system is broken. But we can change that, with your and many others' help. Will you join us?"
Now, it seemed to Cadaren that the whole tavern turned its face towards him and was listening intently as he replied in the spur of the moment: "I will."
He never thought two words would change his life so drastically.