can’t see the merit of the plan.” He wrapped his hands around the haft of his
hammer, an imposing weapon that almost matched him in height.
“I should have explained myself more clearly from the start,” the king said soothingly. “Our archives turned out to be most
instructive. The scholars found an ancient treaty dating back to the end of the 4000th cycle. It seems our ancestors signed
a pact with Gauragar, which grants our kingdom everlasting ownership of Cloudpiercer in payment for our help.”
“You mean, the Blacksaddle?” Salfalur knew the stories about the mountain’s history. According to legend, the Blacksaddle
was once a mighty peak named Cloudpiercer, the summit of which stretched thousands of paces into the sky. Cloudpiercer stood
taller and prouder than any other peak in Girdlegard. It was tipped with snow throughout the seasons and its loftiest flanks
were made of pure gold. After trying and failing to mine the treasure, the people of Gauragar had called on the dwarves to
help them.
“Are you saying our kinsmen helped the humans to mine the gold, just like the legend says?”
“Exactly. The dwarves of Lorimbur were the first to send a delegation to Gauragar.” Lorimbas gestured to the map. “They arrived
at Cloudpiercer and succeeded in burrowing their way through the mountain and digging a tunnel to the top. They hollowed out
the mountain and carried off the gold. In return for their help, they demanded a share of the treasure and ownership of the
mountain. The king of Gauragar signed a treaty to that effect.”
Salfalur knew the rest from a song that his aunt had taught him as a child. The dwarves and men had quarreled over the gold,
prompting Cloudpiercer to erupt in fury and shake the miners from its core. The rest of the mountain was riddled with tunnels
and the peak collapsed. From that moment on, the mountain simmered with hatred and harbored a murderous grudge against the
races of dwarves and men.
“What if the mountain recognizes us and tries to bury us under its weight?” he asked nervously.
“That part of the story is almost certainly hogwash, but we’ll be careful all the same.” The king was still staring at the
map. “Bruron should receive my missive in the next few orbits.”
“Bruron is a man without principles. He’ll never honor the word of his ancestors,” Salfalur predicted dourly. “Besides, without
the help of the other folks, his kingdom would have fallen to the magus. He’ll deny all knowledge of our agreement rather
than risk the anger of the dwarves.”
“Humans will do anything for gold; it’s simply a case of scale. A single coin won’t buy a sovereign’s loyalty, so I’m offering
two full chests. How can he refuse? His kingdom was ransacked by orcs and his people will be hungry. He needs money to buy
grain.” Lorimbas sat back and folded his hands across his chest. “You see, Salfalur, I can fight with my head as well as my
mace. I can outscheme poor Bislipur.”
Salfalur’s tattoos snaked across his face as he ground his teeth. “I don’t doubt it, Your Majesty. But what did Bislipur
achieve
?”
“Patience, old friend. The first stage of the plan deals only with Bruron.”
“Where would you strike next?”
Lorimbas’s finger hovered over the map and landed on the kingdom of Idoslane. “Orcs are marauding through Mallen’s kingdom.
He’ll want to destroy them, or drive them into Toboribor. We’ll wait until he’s busy; then we’ll pay him a visit.”
“Mallen and Goldhand are friends. All the money in Girdlegard won’t change his allegiance.” The commander-in-chief frowned.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but scheming won’t get you further than poor Bislipur.”
“You’d rather we went to war,” the king said coldly, fixing his commander with his dark brown eyes. “I don’t doubt that the
odds have never seemed better. Our army is strong, and the others are weak from their
hammer, an imposing weapon that almost matched him in height.
“I should have explained myself more clearly from the start,” the king said soothingly. “Our archives turned out to be most
instructive. The scholars found an ancient treaty dating back to the end of the 4000th cycle. It seems our ancestors signed
a pact with Gauragar, which grants our kingdom everlasting ownership of Cloudpiercer in payment for our help.”
“You mean, the Blacksaddle?” Salfalur knew the stories about the mountain’s history. According to legend, the Blacksaddle
was once a mighty peak named Cloudpiercer, the summit of which stretched thousands of paces into the sky. Cloudpiercer stood
taller and prouder than any other peak in Girdlegard. It was tipped with snow throughout the seasons and its loftiest flanks
were made of pure gold. After trying and failing to mine the treasure, the people of Gauragar had called on the dwarves to
help them.
“Are you saying our kinsmen helped the humans to mine the gold, just like the legend says?”
“Exactly. The dwarves of Lorimbur were the first to send a delegation to Gauragar.” Lorimbas gestured to the map. “They arrived
at Cloudpiercer and succeeded in burrowing their way through the mountain and digging a tunnel to the top. They hollowed out
the mountain and carried off the gold. In return for their help, they demanded a share of the treasure and ownership of the
mountain. The king of Gauragar signed a treaty to that effect.”
Salfalur knew the rest from a song that his aunt had taught him as a child. The dwarves and men had quarreled over the gold,
prompting Cloudpiercer to erupt in fury and shake the miners from its core. The rest of the mountain was riddled with tunnels
and the peak collapsed. From that moment on, the mountain simmered with hatred and harbored a murderous grudge against the
races of dwarves and men.
“What if the mountain recognizes us and tries to bury us under its weight?” he asked nervously.
“That part of the story is almost certainly hogwash, but we’ll be careful all the same.” The king was still staring at the
map. “Bruron should receive my missive in the next few orbits.”
“Bruron is a man without principles. He’ll never honor the word of his ancestors,” Salfalur predicted dourly. “Besides, without
the help of the other folks, his kingdom would have fallen to the magus. He’ll deny all knowledge of our agreement rather
than risk the anger of the dwarves.”
“Humans will do anything for gold; it’s simply a case of scale. A single coin won’t buy a sovereign’s loyalty, so I’m offering
two full chests. How can he refuse? His kingdom was ransacked by orcs and his people will be hungry. He needs money to buy
grain.” Lorimbas sat back and folded his hands across his chest. “You see, Salfalur, I can fight with my head as well as my
mace. I can outscheme poor Bislipur.”
Salfalur’s tattoos snaked across his face as he ground his teeth. “I don’t doubt it, Your Majesty. But what did Bislipur
achieve
?”
“Patience, old friend. The first stage of the plan deals only with Bruron.”
“Where would you strike next?”
Lorimbas’s finger hovered over the map and landed on the kingdom of Idoslane. “Orcs are marauding through Mallen’s kingdom.
He’ll want to destroy them, or drive them into Toboribor. We’ll wait until he’s busy; then we’ll pay him a visit.”
“Mallen and Goldhand are friends. All the money in Girdlegard won’t change his allegiance.” The commander-in-chief frowned.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but scheming won’t get you further than poor Bislipur.”
“You’d rather we went to war,” the king said coldly, fixing his commander with his dark brown eyes. “I don’t doubt that the
odds have never seemed better. Our army is strong, and the others are weak from their
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