The Mine Lord: A Dwarven Survival Base-Builder

Yorvig had fallen asleep in a chair again while Onyx worked in silence at her bench. A knock at the door roused him. When he'd risen and opened it, he found one of the hunters standing outside. Yorvig had detached some of the prospectors to aid Thrushbeard and the Wardens in hunting and trapping.

"Rhûl. Thrushbeard has sent me. There is a fight. He is holding them separate. What do you want him to do?"

Yorvig blinked, still feeling half asleep. A fight? If there was a fight, Thrushbeard should know very well to break it up and let the rinlen deal with it first.

"Where is it?"

"Little more than four miles west and south," the hunter said.

"Miles? What? Are the hunters fighting?"

"No, Rhûl, we came upon a fight between claims."

"What over?" Onyx asked, stepping beside Yorvig.

"A theft."

"How many are involved?"

"Nine, altogether, and Thrushbeard is there with four of ours."

"We will be there," she said. "Wait for us at the tower. Find Khlif and tell him to send us a detachment of ten of his cadre."

The hunter glanced from Onyx to Yorvig, unsure if he should obey.

"Do it." Yorvig waved the hunter away with a hand and waited for the footsteps to withdraw.

"Why should we get involved?" he asked, turning to Onyx. He was exhausted, and the idea of a four mile hike was unpleasant to say the least. The only reason he had fallen asleep in the chair was because he had been too tired to walk to the bed. Besides that, it was difficult enough to settle matters for those who had sworn oaths. This was an entirely different situation.

"Thrushbeard is already involved. And it will cement our authority. We talked about it in council. You need rest. It's alright, I will go."

"It won't be alright if the prospectors decide to fight anyway, with ours involved," Yorvig said. "I have half a mind to forbid it."

"If we do not go and blood is shed, how will you feel having done nothing? Arbitration spares bloodshed. You need not speak. You need not come. I will handle it. Just send the dwarves with me."

"I will come at least."

In a few minutes, they stepped out of the stonehold wearing matching yellow ochre cloaks from Lowpleat. The familiar tap of Treadfoot's steel butt-cap followed along. It was night as they left the High Adit. They had to wait in the dell a few more minutes for the contingent of dwarves from Khlif to arrive, all bearing spears. The hunter led them all across the bridge and up the western ridge using the same route that Tonkil used to take, but instead of turning south at the crest toward Tonkil's Rock, they continued down the far side and into the valley. There was a narrow foot-trail there, likely a game trail originally but now used by passing dwarves. They followed it across the next valley as a grey morning dawned. The hunter followed an even more scraggly trail south across the sloping ascent of the next ridge, and turning a bend, they arrived at a claim.

There was a low adit in the ridge, dug through loam and leaves and pine-needles and into the sandstone. A cluster of five dwarves stood together a short distance from the adit armed with stone-tipped spears, hammers and hand-axes tucked into thick belts, their clothes stained. They looked exactly how Yorvig and the others had looked when first they came to the Ridges. Thrushbeard and his four dwarves stood across the opening of the adit, a couple of them watching the drift, and a couple of them watching the group of five. Thrushbeard looked relieved as he saw the Glint dwarves coming around the bend.

"What is the dispute?" Onyx asked in a loud, clear voice, pulling her yellow hood back from her head. She had chosen a black veil.

"Nothing is disputed," one of the five prospectors said. "We killed a boar and they stole it."

"Stole it as it hung at our adit!" another said.

"And you know it was them?" Onyx asked.

"I saw them running."

"And you couldn't catch them carrying a whole boar?"

"It was quartered, and there were four of them, and I had to get the others from down the shaft. We caught up, but they'd already fled under stone."

"Will you accept our arbitration?"

"What is there to arbitrate?" one of the prospectors asked. "We know what they have done."

"Then rather than shedding dwarven blood, accept my arbitration for justice."

"Why should we accept Glint's arbitration?"

"Because if you do not," Onyx said, "and you harm these dwarves—"

"These thieves!" one of the prospectors challenged.

"—Then word may travel back to their kin, and who will believe that their kin was rightfully murdered? Do you have kin in Deep Cut?"

That reduced the cluster of prospectors to something like reflection.

"But," Onyx went on. "If you accept our arbitration, it will be Glint who bears the responsibility."

This was part of why Yorvig was hesitant. Authority was fine, until it was contested. Then it was a danger. At the same time, Onyx was right. This could have devolved into bloodshed.

"Fine," said the most vocal of the prospectors. "We accept. But they must accept it, too."

As this was unfolding, Yorvig had moved toward the adit, coming to stand with Thrushbeard. He wondered what he would have done—or Sledgefist—if they had been starving, far from authority, and came upon a quartered boar. Not stealing, surely?

"Where are the others?" he asked, looking into the dim adit.

"They're in there," Thrushbeard said. "They're half-starved. We saw them run past with the meat, and then these ones arrived in chase." He nodded toward the five.

"It'd be foolish of them to try to storm the adit, regardless," Yorvig said.

"Not so foolish," Thrushbeard replied. "They don't even have spears in there. It would have been a slaughter if we hadn't stopped them."

With the matter settled with the injured party, Onyx joined Yorvig and Thrushbeard at the adit. It was easier to see down the adit now in the strengthening eastern light. While there was a shallow vein of quartz near the surface, further in Yorvig saw the bright yellow of weathered sulfides along with dark hematite. It was clear why they thought the vein might pay from the surface, but they should have stopped sooner. Nevertheless, one of the veins of hematite looked to be nearly ten inches thick, and the mullock pile nearby was full of hematite ore. If the claim had been close to Deep Cut, they might have made a living. As Yorvig's eyes adjusted, he saw movement at the back of the drift. It was only thirty yards deep, and four dwarves were huddled at the back, clutching picks and hammers, their eyes reflecting the morning light at the adit.

"You inside!" Onyx yelled down the adit.

"Four at the back, thirty yards in," Yorvig whispered so she could hear.

"I am Onyx of Glint," she called. "I am here to arbitrate this dispute. Accept my word and come out."

There was no answer. The dwarves at the back of the adit crouched down further.

"You have no choice," Onyx said. "If you accept arbitration you are dwarves. If not, you are thieves. Only we have kept them from murdering you."

"Who made you arbiter?" one of them called.

"If you come out," Onyx said. "Glint will vouch for your life. You will not die. If you do not come out, we will do our duty and aid these others in punishing thieves."

Yorvig grimaced. It wasn't wrong, but he did not want to shed dwarven blood. There was an uncomfortable pause.

"We will come out," a voice said at last.

Onyx looked over to the prospectors waiting outside.

"Drop your weapons and step away." She turned to the adit and called in. "Leave your weapons and come out."

Both groups agreed. A few moments later, the thieves emerged. All four had sunken faces. Their eyes looked unnaturally large, their skin lax. Yorvig felt pity for them. Why had they not come to Glint for help? He wondered if any prospectors had starved to death of their own stubbornness.

At Onyx's direction, Thrushbeard and a Ridge Warden led the thieves to the side, leaving two of the crossbow-wielding hunters on guard in front of the adit. Onyx took up her place between the two parties. Khlif's dwarves remained close to Onyx, grasping their spears and watching the opposing groups warily.

"Go examine the adit," Onyx said, pointing to two of them. They returned after a few minutes.

"The meat is inside," one said.

Onyx turned to the thieves.

"You were seen fleeing from your accuser's claim carrying the meat. What do you have to say?"

"We offered to pay," one of the dwarves said.

"We don't want your iron!" retorted one of the accusers.

"So you do not deny that you stole the meat?" Onyx asked.

"We wouldn't be here if it weren't for you," one of the thieves said, looking at Yorvig. "We found no gold."

"You could have worked for us," Yorvig answered. "We would have fed you as kulhan."

"We didn't come here to be your kulhan. You're no better than we are."

One of the other thieves elbowed the loudmouth in the ribs, muttering for him to shut up.

"What restitution do you desire?" Onyx asked the accusers.

"We demand restitution in kind, with the surplus in kind."

It was their right. Even Yorvig knew that restitution for thievery was not just the return of what was stolen, but the payment of a surplus in damages. The thief must be poorer for the theft, and the victim must be richer. In Deep Cut, kin would usually make up any difference that the thief could not, to save face for the family. It would not prevent the shaming of the thief, though.

"That is your right," Onyx said.

It was also impossible. Thieves who took meat to survive did not have meat to give in surplus. There was no kin available to make it right, either. Everyone knew that, and by demanding restitution in kind the accusers were requesting physical punishment far in excess of the traditional stripes.

"Can you pay it?" Onyx asked the thieves. They remained silent. "Or do you have a redeemer?"

"You know we have no redeemer," snapped the loud thief. "Get on with it."

Onyx stared hard at the thieves. Yorvig knew she had to apply a severe enough measure that the accusers were satisfied, but also leave these frail dwarves alive. It would be brutal, without a doubt—face branding, maybe the loss of fingers. He glanced once more at the adit.

"Then in addition to the thirteen stripes, you will each receive—"

"I will be their redeemer," Yorvig interjected, cutting Onyx off.

She looked over at him in obvious surprise, as did everyone else, the thieves included. Yorvig turned to the accusing dwarves.

"I will pay you twice the weight of meat, smoked, or three yothe of gold if you prefer."

They hesitated at first, but it was a fair offer.

"They must still have their stripes."

"They will have them."

"Then we accept."

Onyx watched in silence as Yorvig turned to the thieves.

"Your claim will be forfeit to me by rights and you will be bond-labor for one year, and kulhan with rights for four more. You will eat as such. Do you agree?"

"I agree," said the youngest of the thieves. One by one they agreed, even the loudmouth.

Yorvig nodded to Onyx.

"Then let them be striped," she said. "Thrushbeard."

Yorvig watched in grim silence as the thieves were stripped to the waist. Thrushbeard found a suitable branch of maple and split it with a hatchet into a long, bendable strip. He tested the lash against a tree. It gave a resounding crack. Satisfied, he had the first thief kneel and hug the tree. Yorvig looked away as each of the thieves were given the thirteen stripes. They were getting off easy, and the stripes would leave no lasting damage. Its intent was humiliation. Yorvig walked over to the accusers.

"Your payment will be brought to your claim," he said. "Will it be the meat or the gold?"

There was some hesitation, but the prospectors settled on meat. Yorvig might have done the same.

"Do you know the thieves by name?"

"Ay, we do," said one of the prospectors.

"By family?"

"They're from the Westendelph," one of them answered, referring to a warren of small stoneholds on the outskirts of Deep Cut.

"Good."

"The matter is done," Onyx announced as the last thief climbed to his feet. "If any seeks to reawaken this feud, may his own blood be upon him. We stand witness."

Yorvig looked at Onyx, trying to figure out if she was mad. He knew she was not to be trifled with, but he had not seen her try to exercise authority like this before. Her words and her tone were strong. He was married to her, and yet she struck him once again as a completely foreign being, a mysterious entity that he could not comprehend. Sometimes she was soft as new-shorn wool, and other times hard as iron. There was much he did not yet know about his wif.

As the thieves gingerly let their longshirts fall over their wounds, their gazes cast down, Yorvig approached them. He pitied them, but they had still become thieves out of stubbornness. Now was not the time to coddle.

"You are my debtors and your claim is mine," he said. "If you fail to keep this oath, I will make sure all Deep Cut knows the disgrace of your families. If you flee back there, I will make sure you are found. I will make your names odious. Stay, and you will be cared for as kulhan. Do you understand?"

"Ay, yes," a couple of them muttered.

"Now I am going home," Yorvig said.

"I will get my tools," the youngest of the thieves said.

"No," Yorvig answered. "You all stay here to work this claim."

"There is no gold here, just iron. We could have mined it in the Brown Hills rather than come all the way here," said the loudmouth.

"I know. I'm not blind," Yorvig snapped. "Go eat some of that boar you stole and get to work. If you cannot do good work here, I will split you up into the worst duties I can find. Thrushbeard will be checking on your progress often."

Thrushbeard stood nearby, and he gave them a hard stare.

Yorvig looked over his shoulder. The accusers were turning to make their way down the trail. Onyx had been speaking with them and now she approached. Yorvig turned and left the thieves behind without another word. Even if the sorry lot ran, he still had the claim, and if they could not keep such a merciful judgment, he didn't want them in Glint.

They were back under stone in Glint by afternoon, and Yorvig went straight to their sleeping chamber. He needed to get at least a couple hours of rest.

"I would not have shown mercy," Onyx said, following him into the chamber.

"I suspected that."

"So did they. They were thieves. You aren't responsible for every dwarf in these ridges. Sending a message to the other prospectors that there are consequences might stop more harm."

"The mantle of authority is the mantle of responsibility." That was another saying from his old mining master. The master had judged wrong about a particular stope, but instead of making excuses, he had merely said that. Yorvig pulled off his shirt and sat on the edge of the sleeping alcove, stripped to the waist. He unlaced his boots and pulled them off, feeling the cold stone beneath his bare feet. The foot on his bad side still had a much paler hue.

"Was it just for mercy? Or was it guilt?" she asked.

"It was iron," he said, lying down. It might have been those other things, too.

"Iron?"

"Did you not see their drift? It is full of hematite. One of the veins is ten inches thick." It would make no dwarf rich so far into the wilds, but it was another keystone for Glint.

"Hematite," she said, and shook her head.

"There is no reason that mercy can't be clever. Now let me sleep, please."

There was a pause.

"Are you sure you want to sleep?"

Yorvig sat back up.

With plentiful iron from his new claim, the forges burned in the preparation of crossbows, spears, nails and rims for shields, and even helms. A hundred dwarves with crossbows should make One-Ear think twice before venturing near, or rob him of the opportunity.

Yet despite Yorvig's dread, the ürsi did not come that fall—at least, there was no siege at Glint. Prospectors disappeared, and along with terrified dwarves reports arrived of ürsi along streams and river both to north and south. One prospector came to Deep Cut raving about how a group of ürsi had caught his partner outside their claim and devoured him as he helplessly watched from the adit. Most knew better than to doubt such stories. Sixty-three dwarves fled to Glint and begged to work the winter. It was less than Yorvig and Thrushbeard had feared but more than enough to put a strain on their stores. They could not afford to stop hunting despite the danger. They sucked marrow-bones and chewed hide between their meager meals.

Yet as they would come to learn, Yorvig's tower of ürsi bones had left an impression on Eldenhaul. The stories he carried back sent a tremor through Deep Cut. The gold Eldenhaul brought from their claim was assayed again and again with growing consternation in Deep Cut—from those who had disbelieved the tales. There was proof. The small amount of copper alloy did not prove the stories false. There was true gold in the Red Ridges. Traders who had not risked it before now kicked themselves. Along with that, Crookleg’s letter reached his kin on the western slopes where they grazed their stock. Yorvig didn’t know it, but the name Chargrim was often spoken in the richest holds of Deep Cut and the simplest folds of the western slopes that winter. Well before the thaws reached the dell, abundance ventured on its way to Glint. Their survival was almost guaranteed.

Almost.

They had greater foes than winter. Over the next years, many felt they had left the struggles of the early days behind.

Yorvig never believed those hopes.