Chapter 51 – Pact of Limitations

A wide ring of dwarves surrounded Harm. They did not come close, but he felt the weight of their stares, a pressure crushing him like a fallen sky. Harm's shoulders were squared, his head held high as he stood. Florence still dripped slowly onto the ground, the vibrant red a contrast to the torn-up earth.

There was muttering, and Harm noticed a dwarf wearing a sash walking towards him; he didn't maintain distance as the others had and strode up to him without fear. He looked Harm up and down, scoffing. "I've seen better armour on a dwarfling. Those pauldrons belong on a maiden, and your chain's missing links."

Several of the surrounding dwarves laughed at the comment. Harm's mismatched and ill-fitting armour is a stark contrast to the perfectly crafted armour of the dwarves, made to measure. The shine still remained even after the battle.

"I take it you're Harmonious?" the sergeant said.

Harm just nodded, not speaking; his mind was whirling, a storm of emotions flooding it: hatred, vengeance, peace, love. The fallen goblins stung him, and his heart bled for them, but his vengeance had begun, and this was his first step.

Don't they look pretty? The god hissed, its voice like a whetstone, grinding him down. Stood in shining armour, awaiting your blade; more tokens for the coffers I see before thee.

Harm's focus switched as he looked around at the dwarves; they no longer presented as dwarves, but trophies to claim. More blood for his soul, a link to redemption perhaps, he didn't know. He shook his head, attempting to clear his thoughts.

Why resist what you know is your calling? It whispered.

No, Harm thought in a violent response, his own thought echoing in his skull, erupting as a deathly scream from his lips. The sergeant jumped away, spritely for the armour he wore, his great axe immediately brought ready.

Crossbows were aimed at him as he looked around. This would be suicide. There was no way he could take on the dwarves, their armour alone a significant barrier. 

No, why am I thinking this way! I seek trade; I seek peace. We need allies, not more enemies, he thought.

The sergeant looked at him warily before signalling to the others. "Bring him. We'll take him to Goldbeard." Then he turned and walked away.

Harm allowed himself to be led, his boots sinking in the churned-up ground, puddles formed by the recent rain now tinged with blood. He stepped over the dead and injured alike. Two dwarven clerics were moving around, offering the gods the souls of the deceased. He watched as they walked by a Kasdew, one of his clan, without a second glance. His temper flared, anger burned his throat, but he bit back a comment. This was their field; he may have assisted, but their gates were threatened, not his own.

Harm looked at the wreckage of the smouldering battering ram along with several mercenary bodies, almost twisted beyond recognition. It hadn't even made it through the cutting before being destroyed. Harm didn't know the magic that had torn it apart, a fireball? Something darker? Whatever had caused the explosion had protected the very walls he now marched toward. 

The gates stood open as he walked inside many months ago now. What had once felt familiar now felt alien, strange, and almost uncomfortable. He wasn't a farmer delivering his dairy, but a leader representing his clan.

A large dwarf stood in an open doorway, his armour immaculate, his great helm adorned. He held no weapon; his presence alone was historic. A thick plaited beard twisted from his chin, sewn with golden thread.

"Harmonious, I assume?" the dwarf said as he stepped forward.

"I am," Harm said.

"Pardew speaks highly of you, although I see not why," Goldbeard frowned. "You look like a rabid beast rather than a leader."

"Times aren't easy," Harm said, shrugging, ignoring his jibe.

"Thank you for your support. I believe you lost several."

"We lost some, but the cause was greater."

That made Goldbeard raise an eyebrow. "A cause greater than death?"

"Is death in battle not a cause alone, but one with just rewards, even more so? They will be remembered for their sacrifice."

"Indeed, it is, and they will. Come join me," Goldbeard said as he stepped back into the building.

Harm placed Florence in his inventory, having not let go of her since the battle ended; his hand felt strange without her comfort.

Harm followed Goldbeard to a table where a flagon sat with tankards. 

"We drink to the fallen," Goldbeard said.

"I don't drink," Harm answered as a feeling he had hidden deep inside for months slowly crept to the surface; he could feel the demon clawing at his insides, wishing to taste the amber nectar. Goldbeard signalled to another dwarf, who ran over and filled the second tankard with water.

"I'm not sure I trust a man who doesn't drink to the fallen," Goldbeard said.

"I do drink to them, just not alcohol," Harm said, lifting his tankard. "To the fallen."

"To the fallen," Goldbeard echoed as they both drank. Goldbeard placed his tankard down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand of the thick froth.

"Now let's talk," he said, taking a seat.

Harm joined him.

"The reports I heard are that your green-skins fought well," Goldbeard said.

Hearing him call them green-skins made Harm's blood boil more than he expected. It was a term he had often used in his past, but now that he lived with the clan, its demeaning nature hit home.

Harm bit his tongue before he spoke. "They do, they're still learning, but in time, they will get better. I'll be honest, I didn't notice the dwarves where I was."

Goldbeard frowned. "Strange, my dwarves said you were all over."

Harm had no recollection, which was rather concerning; only the briefest flickers of memories resided from the battle. 

Goldbeard looked behind Harm. "Pardew, come join us."

"Harm," Pardew said, walking over and placing his hand on his shoulder. Harm still wore his pauldrons, stained with his enemy's blood. Pardew withdrew his hand, looking at his bloody palm. "You need to clean up."

"I thought that myself," Goldbeard said, chuckling. "Especially before he goes before the council."

"The council? Today?"

"Aye, they will see you in a while. They have been informed of your request, and I left them to discuss it."

"That's where I have been," Pardew said.

"I see. I wasn't expecting it to be so fast," Harm said.

"I agreed that it would be discussed, so it is," Goldbeard stated with authority. "But as Pardew suggests, getting cleaned up is needed prior."

"I have no other clothes."

"Bah, our tailors can fit you, and our armourers are open. Accept them as a gift for what you have done today."

"Thank you; that would be appreciated," Harm said, surprised.

"No bother," Goldbeard smiled.

Harm felt out of place; he had never been involved in any form of clan discussions before, and his stomach lurched nervously.

"Pardew, you know old Gershwins, don't you?"

"I do."

"Tell her I need him fitted for new clothes. Then take him to Irondue, and he may choose a set of decent armour. Then lastly, the council chambers are located in the main mine; anyone can give you directions; there are rooms there with a bath where you can clean before you present your case in person to the council."

Harm stood thanking Goldbeard before he left with Pardew.

"Well, that wasn't what I expected," Harm said as Pardew led him to Gershwin's.

"I've known Goldbeard for many years. I met him on the plains after his merchant's wagon was attacked by hobs some forty years ago. Angelica was an alchemist; she cared for their injuries and saved Helina, Goldbeard's wife's life."

The full revelation by Pardew amazed Harm. The old man had a history that he knew nothing of. "I'm glad I asked you to come join the clan. I doubt any of this would have been possible without you," Harm said.

"I'm sure you'd have done fine without me," Pardew brushed off the compliment.

After visiting Gershwins, who initially had started screaming for the guard when Harm stepped into her shop covered in the viscera of battle, he had left with a complete set of new clothing. Pardew then led him to Irondue's.

"Irondue, this is Harm," Pardew said, introducing him.

"I heard you'd be coming. I can see why!"

Harm was in a daze; he had never spoken so much to so many dwarves in all his time in Hillnot, only ever going directly to the market to sell his dairy.

"I was told that you may choose a full set of your liking."

The shop was filled not just with weapons, but also with racks of armour lining the walls. Plate mail, chain mail, ring mail, and there was even scale mail amongst the stands. If there was one thing that dwarves did better than any other race Harm had ever met, it was smithing. There must have been enough armour and weapons in the smithy's shop to outfit a small army, and this was only one of several smiths in the town.

Harm browsed the gear; he had got used to his mixed armour, but knew if he had fitted armour, it would be much better. Then he felt a strange pull in the pit of his stomach. The brilliant shine of all the armour was dazzling, but that wasn't what pulled him. In the rear corner of the store, a suit of matte black armour stood. 

"What's that?" Harm asked.

"Bah, that's rubbish. The ore was contaminated when smelted, but I didn't know until it cooled. It didn't matter how much I attempted to polish it; that armour has never once shone. It's a graded set, and even has slots, but bah, it'll never sell."

It was perfect. Harm moved to it, running his hand across its surface, and a shudder ran down his spine when he did.

"Is it easy to size for me?"

"Aye, but why would you want that, when you have the choice of anything here?" Irondue frowned.

"I like it." Harm shrugged.

"Are y' sure? It looks shite."

"No, that's perfect," Harm said. He didn't understand why, but he had to have it.

"As y' wish," Irondue said as he called for two of his apprentices. "I'll have it brought to the chambers for fitting. Did you want the helm as well?"

Harm hadn't noticed, but there was a matching black greathelm. "Please."

Harm was browsing the weapons; there was every variant of weapon he could imagine, all beautifully crafted.

"I understand you were the one Pardew purchased our weapons from?" Harm asked.

Irondue turned and squinted at Pardew. "I knew you were never going to resell them."

Pardew just smiled. 

"How much would it cost us for sets of chain mail and standard weapons?"

"Depends on the crafting grade. What are you after?"

Items in Amathera fell within various levels, from common all the way to astral, and also had varying durability.

"Ideally, good for quality and durability. I know your weapons are always at least good." The second stage was good in terms of both quality and durability.

Irondue scoffed. "So's the armour. If an apprentice can't craft good items as a minimum, they soon find themselves without work. Anything less returns to the smelter. What are you classifying as standard weapons?"

"Short swords, hand axe, mace or hammer, spear, dagger, and small buckler."

Irondue's eyebrows rose. "That's more than a standard set."

Harm smiled. "I'll let you think on a price."

"Aye, I'll do some numbers. How many would you be after?"

Harm considered the number of clan members who were combatants, and then the youngsters who may soon join the ranks. "If I said fifty for now."

Irondue choked. "FIFTY!"

"Yes, fifty. I'm sure you dwarves work better with larger orders," Harm smiled. "And I'll pay with uncut emeralds."

Harm could see the coins flying through Irondue's eyes.

"I'll work some numbers out, though I'm not sure about the emerald prices in comparison."

Harm doubted that, as a dwarf, Irondue didn't know exactly what uncut emeralds were worth, depending upon size; he was a dwarf after all. The large, palm-sized emerald was in his inventory; he had never placed it in the chest in his hut. He called it to his hand as he twisted it casually. The point didn't go unnoticed by Irondue, as Harm saw the greed in his stare before he returned it to his inventory. It had had the desired effect.

"Right, let's go get you cleaned up," Pardew said.

They left Irondue frantically scribbling notes on parchment.

The main mine entrance was guarded by two dwarves and looked very unassuming; it resembled any standard cave among the thousands that littered the world. The guards gave them directions to the chamber and the room that had been prepared for them.

On entering, the dwarven skills came to light. The walls were perfectly smooth, and a wide tunnel led into the mountain. At various points, perfectly excavated tunnels disappeared into darkness. Few torches lit the area, since dwarven vision underground was unhampered by the lack of light. They stepped out into a large chamber and followed the left wall as instructed before finding the assigned room.

The brilliant lantern light that shone when Pardew opened the door dazzled them both. It was a basic room, with a bed, a stand, a mirror, a large iron bath and a roaring fire. A young dwarf was busy pouring steaming water into the bath.

"Ah," it squealed in shock as it turned, seeing Harm standing like a monster in the doorway. "You must be him," it stammered.

"I guess so," Harm said.

"The bath is ready, and the town leader said you were to be brought to the council once changed," the young dwarf said, regaining his composure slightly.

Harm dropped the clothes parcel on the bed as he unequipped his armour, and as it vanished, the young dwarf gasped. "Do you have Equip?"

"I do," Harm answered.

"I hope for that one day."

Harm just nodded as he stripped off; his leather and clothes were ruined, they stank of sweat and death, covered in blood and grime.

"I'm going to find Irondue," Pardew said as Harm climbed into the bath. It was the first hot bath Harm had had in weeks since leaving Sallew, and he let out a deep sigh as he sank into the water. Being a bath for dwarves, it wasn't long enough for him to lie in, but hunching his knees, he was able to dunk his head under the water. The heat stung him, but the burning sensation was more pleasurable than painful.

Harm scrubbed himself with the perfumed wax soap that had been provided, and slowly, the natural colour of his skin appeared. He had no idea how long he had washed for, but every inch of his body was scrubbed, including his matted hair and beard, before he climbed from the now very dirty water. After wrapping himself in the large towel, he walked to the mirror. He had only seen his reflection in the flickering surface of the river by the clan recently. The shock of seeing his newly coloured eyes staring back at him made him gasp. His body had also filled out, his previous muscular tone from his adventuring days returning. He brushed his hair and beard with a comb as he made himself presentable, then dressed.

The young dwarf had come to empty the bath while he dressed, and he grimaced as he emptied the water from it. Not long after, as Harm sat on the edge of the bed, Pardew returned.

"Let's go," Pardew said, looking at Harm appraisingly. "You've scrubbed up okay."

"Thanks," Harm said, pulling at the tunic collar. It was the best he had felt in a long time, not realising how much he had missed having baths. It would have to be another thing to consider back at the clan. Hygiene was good at the clan, but baths would take them to a whole new level, and also a mirror, after he had seen the state of his hair and beard.

The council chambers were an impressive affair, and if this was how a dwarven town held its business, Harm wondered what their cities were like. It was deceiving when he considered that on the surface, Hillnot appeared as a small-sized town, but actually, within the mountainside, there existed something equal if not potentially larger.

"Council members, may I please introduce Harmonious Scrug?" Pardew said as they entered. 

Around the chamber sat five dwarves. Goldbeard sat in the centre, with two on each side. They looked older than Goldbeard, each of the councillors wearing gleaming plate armour similar to Goldbeard. Harm guessed this was for show.

Harm nodded to the members.

Goldbeard coughed, clearing his throat. 

"Pardew has explained the general concept of what you wish to do, but we would like to hear it from you," Goldbeard announced.

Harm stepped forward. "Of course," he said as he started. The explanation was simplistic; he was going to remove Satil and his poison from Sallew and was calling on the assistance of the dwarves, as well as openly claiming the rights to trade with Hillnot. Harm knew it was no different from what Pardew had explained.

Goldbeard nodded, and the dwarves muttered to each other before he answered.

"Your support with the forces who attacked Hillnot hasn't gone unnoticed, and Hillnot will always be grateful to you and Pardew. We are, though, sorry that we will not be supporting any attack on Sallew. The valley is of no interest to us; our wealth lies in the mountains, not in the plains."

"Would not the security of Sallew benefit you after what Satil has attempted?"

"We don't question the security; we question our town's needs and practicality. We have no interest in attacking a mainly human settlement, even if they attempted to attack our town. The political difficulties that would bring us would be more severe than an active defence, which is justified. If we commenced an attack that changes the dynamics and turns us into the aggressors, and we don't see Satil as a significant threat after his defeat today."

Harm fumed at his words. "How can you sit there and let his actions go unchallenged?"

"With ease. You forget dwarves live much longer than your kind. We will still be here long after your generation has passed."

Harm stepped forward, his blood coursing. "I risked my clan to support you, and you won't support us in return."

"Your clan is mainly green-skins; they are more beasts than beings," a councillor said, his tone mocking.

Before Harm knew what he was doing, Florence had appeared in his hand, her blade still stained with dry blood.

"My clan," Harm hissed, "risked their lives to support your town, and they are goblins, not green-skins."

Pardew rested his hand on Harm's arm. "Harm, please, put the sword away."

Harm looked at Florence briefly before returning her to his inventory.

"Rathilion, I believe you owe our guest an apology," Goldbeard said, his voice firm.

The councillor who had spoken sneered and looked away. Goldbeard sighed. "In that case, please accept my apologies on Rathilion's behalf, and my own for my reference to your clan as well."

Harm nodded, not speaking. He wanted to say what he really thought, but dared not.

"Can I ask that even if help is not offered, that our trade deal is still open?" Pardew asked.

The councillors looked at each other, Rathilion still sneering, his displeasure obvious.

"We will accept trade relations if you are successful in your job of cleaning Sallew," Goldbeard said.

"So even though you don't see them as a threat, if we clean up Sallew, we can trade?" Harm said, not able to keep his anger out of his voice.

Goldbeard smiled at Harm; it was a warm and genuine smile. "I hold no malice or ill will towards you or your clan. We do as a town, hold ill will to gr... goblins in general." Goldbeard said, only just stopping himself from saying green-skins. "If they can show their true worth, then we will be willing to negotiate trade relations."

Harm was furious, and he could feel his temples pulsing.

Stay calm and think logically, Pardew thought.

Logically, they refuse to assist and then belittle me! Harm replied.

No, they do what most would do in their position; they show caution. Only recently have you taken over the clan, and until I met them, my initial thoughts were no different. Change takes time.

Harm took a deep breath and closed his eyes; his pulse slowly lessened, and he allowed the tension to leave his body. Pardew was right; he would have been as resistant as they were, and deep down, he knew it.

Eventually, Harm replied. "I accept your terms. I will prove our worth," Harm said before turning and walking from the chamber. Harm walked straight back to the room he had been given and entered. Inside were four dwarves, and lying on the bed was the black plate armour.

Pardew caught back up with him after a few minutes, telling him he would confirm everything in writing through thought. Harm was frustrated and angry, but had no leverage; not even emeralds would turn years of hatred overnight.

It was later that they left the dwarven town, the midday sun now in the sky. The sky still carried clouds, but the angry rains of the previous day had passed. Pardew carried the agreement, which Harm had signed. It was the loosest pact possible, but at least it was a step forward.

He had communicated with the others and made them aware that they were to wait by the climb. The goblins, on seeing Harm appear, greeted him with their usual warmth, and Harm spent time informing them of the meeting's outcome.

"We may as well get on with it then," Luubu said in response.

"If they need proof, we will give them proof," Teras added.

Cries of agreement came from those gathered. Harm paused as he looked over his clan members. Their trust and belief in him were beyond reproach. His chest filled with pride as he smiled. 

"We move on, Sallew," Harm said to cries of support.