Suri didn’t seem to hear; she was sobbing too hard.
—
More than a dozen well-armored dwarfs were waiting outside the gate to Neith. With pointed spears and rounded helms, they were lined up in three rows, shining a brilliant silver in the morning sun. Persephone wondered if Gronbach had received reports of their progress in the same manner that he had known about the general whereabouts of Balgargarath, or if he had ordered guards stationed there since they’d entered. Knowing Gronbach, even as little as she did, she guessed both.
The leader of the troop spoke directly to Frost in their language. Frost replied, and the soldier appeared shocked.
“He asked if it was dead,” Frost volunteered to Persephone, but she’d already guessed that much.
The soldier looked them over, taking particular interest in Arion, who remained unconscious in her sling, carried between Flood and Rain. The Fhrey’s condition hadn’t changed. She continued to breathe, but her eyes hadn’t so much as flickered.
Once more, the soldier addressed Frost.
“He says we’re missing one.”
“Tell him he’s wrong. We’re missing two.”
Persephone looked back into the dark gate of Neith. Suri was still inside. They hadn’t been able to convince her to leave—not yet. Persephone hoped that given a little time, Suri would accept the need to leave Minna. After reporting to Gronbach, Persephone would return and fetch the mystic while the dwarves loaded the weapons on the ship. She no longer had any concern for Suri’s safety. The girl had a dragon for a watchdog.
Frost relayed Persephone’s message. The soldier accepted it. She knew he would. Easy to think they’d suffered casualties. What would be difficult to accept is there had only been two. The hardest thing to believe would be that they had succeeded. She saw that on the soldier’s face as well, an amused little smile wreathed in mustache and beard that proclaimed, “Sure you did.”
The group’s leader insisted they follow him back to Caric, though follow was less than accurate; his squad of metal-clad warriors surrounded them for the entire journey. The downhill trip took no time at all—or at least it felt that way to Persephone who spent the walk marveling at the warmth of the sun and the feel of the wind. They had only been underground for a few days, but in more than one way, Persephone felt risen from the dead.
Gronbach received them in the great hall they called the Rostwell. Before being allowed inside, their loaned weapons were reclaimed. A studious dwarf inspected each for wear. Moya had a disagreement with a guard over her bronze sword until she pointed out it was Fhrey-made. A second look ended the argument, although the dwarf still insisted she leave it outside the hall. Arion was taken to a room with a bed, where Roan—never one for crowds—volunteered to stay with her.
Inside the Rostwell, tables had been shoved aside and stacked up, along with scores of little chairs. Everything had been cleared out to make room for their arrival. The Master Crafter and Mayor of Caric occupied the only remaining seat, which had been set up on a box, apparently so he could look down at them. He wore full battle dress, with a heavy silver breastplate and a pointed helm that appeared a size too large. Surrounding them were another dozen dwarfs in armor, holding pikes and shields. Persephone hoped the amount of metal in the hall was in honor of their victorious return. The stern looks beneath the helms gave her doubts.
“I have been told you destroyed Balgargarath,” Gronbach said, leaning forward. “Is this true?”
“It is,” Persephone replied, and nodded respectfully.
“And the Fhrey? How is she?”
“Wounded. I don’t know how severe. Time will tell, I think.”
“I’m told she is unconscious, barely breathing.”
“That’s true.”
Gronbach nodded. She didn’t see any hint of concern in those flinty eyes, but at least he didn’t smile.
“Have you finished making the swords we agreed upon?” Persephone asked.
Gronbach pushed back in his chair, an irritated grimace squished his lips, and she knew bad news was coming.
When he remained silent, she asked, “So you haven’t started? How long will it take?”
“What swords are you speaking of?” Gronbach steepled his fingertips. His face took on a forced expression of innocence that appeared as awkward on him as a smile on a snake.
“What swords?” Moya asked, stunned, and Persephone knew she wasn’t done.
She stopped Moya by holding up a hand. “We had a bargain, sir. One thousand gray-metal swords in return for killing your demon. We killed Balgargarath. Now we—”
“Do you have his head?” Gronbach made a show of lifting himself on the arms of the chair and stretching his neck. “I don’t see one.”
“He burst into dust and air.”
The dwarf leader settled back on the cushion of his seat and looked at her with a skeptical, pitiful shift of his brows. “Now isn’t that convenient.”
“Are you accusing me of lying?”
Gronbach did smile then, a horrible, dismissive grin. “Three Rhune women, two Rhune girls, a Fhrey, and three criminals go into Neith…it sounds like the opening of a joke, doesn’t it? You go after a demon that has effortlessly destroyed armies of well-armed, well-trained Belgriclungreian heroes. Then you poke around for a few days, and then come out with this…this story…this claim that you destroyed something invincible.” Gronbach held his hands out and made a show of dusting them off. “He’s dead, you say. Balgargarath is vanquished, you proclaim. All done, all taken care of, no problem.” He leaned farther forward with a smile of amused condescension. “Do you really expect me to believe that?”
She pointed at Frost, Flood, and Rain. “Your own people will confirm what I say!”
“Of course. Criminals will say anything to stay alive. Besides, we had no bargain, you and I, no deal. I am not in the habit of giving dangerous weapons to foreigners. There’s a law against that.”
“What law? You have no king. In Caric, you’re the law.”
“Yes, I am.” Gronbach grinned. “As such”—he raised his voice, speaking to the room—“I hereby decree, by the power vested in me by the Caric Crafters’ Association and the citizens of the City of Caric, that these Rhunes and the Fhrey with them, as well as the felons Frost, Flood, and Rain, be executed for the high crime of unlawful trespassing on Belgriclungreian lands and the defiling of our most sacred city of Neith. Sentence to be carried out immediately.”
“What? You can’t be serious!” Moya erupted, advancing on Gronbach, who jerked back in his chair. “We killed that thing. I did it myself. Arion nearly died. She may yet. Suri lost Minna in the battle. We can take you down there right now and show you that it’s—” Two dwarfs grabbed Moya by the arms, pulling her away.
“He’s lying, Moya,” Persephone said as she, too, felt the hands of dwarfs upon her. “He knows we killed it.”
“The bastard is just refusing to keep his end of the bargain!” Moya shouted.
Persephone struggled to break free, but the hands of the dwarfs were as strong as their metal. “You never had any intention of giving us those swords. And now that Arion is hurt, now that she’s no longer a threat, you think we’re helpless.”