Casting Shadows - Chapter 3
“Daemons can be bound and controlled with ease. But the soul of another? That is the hardest beast to tame” - words attributed to Xarathustra
Enlil sat upon the polished throne, carved from volcanic glass. He tapped his taloned fingers upon the arm rest as he listened to the dwarf before him speak.
Beshuk was simply dressed, with greased back hair pulled into a topknot and a black beard fashioned into tight braids. He had been blessed with that rarest of mutations, that of cloven hooves.
About the court there were Dawi-Zharr listening intently. Their fine robes and large ornate hats set them apart from the red tattered garment of the Keeper of the Mines that stood before them.
As Beshuk gave his testimony, in the corner, Ari stamped a clay tablet with a stylus with exquisite speed, recording every word in pristine cunieform.
“…and this is why, my prophet”, Beshuk concluded, “that we require aid from the tower of Bezall, lest the supply of building materials halt.”
“Intriguing…” murmured Enlil, his fingers continuing to tap rhythmically, “you lost the men and the ogre to a cave in…and now the goblins have disappeared…”
“It is as you say, my prophet,” Beshuk agreed, careful to avoid his better’s gaze.
“My hunch,” began a dwarf with a fiery red beard and wearing a golden hat, “is that this Keeper of The Mine has simply lost control of his slaves. Is this a mutiny he covers up?”
A mumble of conflicting agreement and disagreement rumbled through the hall.
“Hold your tongue, Azkul,” said Mardurkarr, dressed in a red silken robe, hat beneath one arm and his moustache curled perfectly towards his pointed nose, “you would have us send a good dwarf to Our Father on your hunch? Beshuk has maintained our mine since the first bricks were laid upon this ziggurat.”
The mumbling once again rippled through those assembled and Ari, with remarkable dexterity moved onto a new tablet and began stabbing away with his stylus.
A dwarf in tall cloth hat, decorated with intricate chequerboard was stood next to the throne where Enlil sat. He leant in and whispered something in the sorcerer’s ear, who nodded sagely.
Enlil finally spoke, “My vizier, Jaraz, feels that this situation requires further investigation.”
Jaraz stood nodding, one hand stroking his long greying beard.
“However, I am master of this tower and I would know that the dwarf I speak to, speaks the truth. If there has been a failing, there will be a reprimand. If it is as he says however, I would like to know more. Tell me Beshuk, how can you prove to me that this is not a ploy? How do I know that slaves have not revolted, or shafts collapsed due to negligence? What assurances can you give me?”
Beshuk looked nervous and trembled slightly on his hoofed feet. “Sorcerer, you see more than with your eyes…you could look into my soul.”
There was a murmur of laughter, shouting and jeers from the crowd. Enlil Shazzar raised his clawed hand and the sound died down.
“To look into your soul, requires a window Beshuk. And the window to the soul, is the eyes…”
“I understand.”
“And you know the law of the tower, Mine Keeper, to look upon your better is to forfeit your sight.”
“I would not be known as a coward nor a liar sorcerer, it would be but a small price to pay.”
“Very well. Approach my throne.”
The sound of hooves upon stone echoed as the silent audience watched the dwarf approach his lord, ready to sacrifice his eyes in order to prove his innocence.
“Wait!” Called Mardakkur.
Enlil looked at his old student and smiled, “Are you to question our traditions and law once again young beardling? Truly the south must have changed you!”
Mardakkur scowled as he looked upon the prophet and approached the Mine Keeper from behind. When he was just behind him, he tore a strip from his garment and then fashioned an eyepatch around his head.
“One window is enough, to get a proper view prophet?” Mardakkur grunted and then returned to the crowd. Beshuk was still shaking and averting his gaze.
“Very well,” the prophet announced and beckoned the Keeper of the Mine to come closer to him. Once he had reached the foot of his throne, where a daemonic face leered up at him he was commanded, “look upon your master.”
Without hesitation, the dwarf looked up and gazed into the red eyes of his master with his one uncovered eye.
Enlil stared deep into his eye, searching his mind and exploring his soul. A tear trickled down the face of the dwarf as his fears were laid bare for the sorcerer to see.
Beneath his cloak, the skin at Enlil-Shazzar’s elbow burned white hot and threatened to break his concentration. He remained strong and kept the curse under control.
After a moment of silence he sat back, and scratched his white beard.
“He speaks the truth,” the prophet announced.
The dwarfs about the hall began to speak freely amongst themselves.
Enlil said to Beshuk, who once again averted his gaze, “You showed great strength but you know what must be done. You will pay your due.”
“It shall be done” agreed Beshuk, leaving the great hall at once.
The sound died down as the great iron door closed behind the keeper of the mine with a reverberating clang.
“What then is to be done, o prophet of Bezall?” Asked Jaraz, his Visier, “would you wish to organise an investigation in the north?”
“I would,” said Enlil thoughtfully.
“Then might I suggest, o mighty one, that young Mardakkur and his guard lead this expedition and accompany Beshuk?”
“They may help him see the way back to his hole!” laughed a dwarf in jade green robes and rings of gold.
“Silence,” snapped Enlil, “that worker has given more to Our Father this day than many of you noble warriors have in all your long years…respect his bravery and his sacrifice and pray that you are never called to give up the same, or more, in payment to Our Father.”
“I will go, if you will permit it,” said Mardakkur, “although my retinue have only last evening returned to the tower after fighting the greenskins at our borders.”
“Take the cowards,” said Enlil, “those who fell back. This expedition shall be their penance and if indeed there is something of a danger in the mine, they can practise those manoeuvres you were demonstrating to them last night.”
“It will be done,” said Mardakkur and left at once to begin preparations.
The court now moved on to far more mundane matters of taxation, supplies and metalwork quotas. All the while, Ari kept meticulous silent records, pressing symbols into clay.
The sun was setting when there was a knock upon Mardakkur’s chamber door.
“Enter,” the warrior grunted as a dwarf in fine clothing and a beautifully detailed hat entered his room, quickly closing the door behind him.
“Jaraz, what are you doing here? I ready myself for the march north in the morrow.”
“You showed wisdom today Mardakkur, son of Bezzalakkur,” the vizier whispered, a grin across his pointed features, “the Keeper serves us well and served your father well. His blinding would have been a terrible waste.”
Mardakkur did not answer, but continued to pack provisions in a bag.
“The Skull Lands are no place for waste. Wouldn’t you agree? For a good worker to lose one eye is waste enough, but two? That would be a sin.”
Mardakkur was now checking over his battleworn armour, ready for it to be donned at sunrise. Undeterred Jaraz continued.
“We haven’t the resources for waste. Take slaves for example. Twelve great brutes you brought back from the south: a dozen! And now we hear that the losses in the mine have doubled. What a shame that we had to send six to Our Father and six to our mine…what a waste.”
“You wield words like weapons Jaraz,” Mardakkur replied, “you should be careful not to fall on your sword.”
“I am no warrior, it is true. But words too can be wielded as a shield, can they not?”
“If you wish to bore me with philosophy or poetry I would ask that you leave, Vizier. I have work to do.”
“Yes, I believe you do,” agreed the finely dressed dwarf, “and we would hate for you …to go to waste. Safe travels son of Bezzalakkur. I am sure you will bring glory to Enlil-Shazzar, keeper of your father’s tower…”
And with that he left.
