In The Cards

Not all dwarves are hotheaded battleragers, living for war and ready to go into a berserk rage at any moment. Many are quiet, sober, peaceful and hardworking. But all dwarves have very long memories, and leaving a dwarf alive to remember you after you've seriously offended him is a bad mistake.

Excerpt from 'Ruminations Of A Master Bard'

As the party passed deeper into the Cloakwood Mines they noticed something was different. The mine shafts were replaced with storage chambers and guard rooms, heavily armed guards took the place of the slaves. Spells and swords dealt with those, one group at a time. Then they found the dungeon, and once they had dealt with yet another guard they found out that there were indeed slaves here as well.

The prison cells were dark and damp, a pile of smelly straw the one piece of 'furniture' present in each. Inside, slaves huddled in fear, even more miserable than the ones on the floor above. One was different though.

"Hey!" a tired voice called out from one of the cells. " Aren't you the mercenaries who've been causing the Iron Throne so much trouble?"

"Yes," Zaerini said, moving over to the bars. The prisoner was thin and not particularly healthy-looking, his beard dirty and unkempt, his body beneath the thin rags he was wearing was covered with old scars from a whip. Some looked new and raw too. "We are. Don't worry, we'll let you out of here. My friend is good with opening locks without keys, you know."

"Good," the man breathed. "It's not that simple though. If you just let us out, the guards will recapture us again very soon, and then we'll be worse off than before."

"Surely you don't want us to leave you here?"

"No, no. But I forget myself. My name is Rill, and I'm the defacto leader of the slaves here beneath the Cloakwood. I heard about you, because I'm always careful to listen to what the Black Talons talk about. It seems that the Iron Throne has placed a large price on the head of someone named Zaerini, which would be you, I assume." Rill's eyes were burning eagerly by now as he spoke, his words almost stumbling from his lips. "Enough introductions, we don't have much time. I need 100 gold. The captain of the Black Talons on the first floor is not known for his loyalty to the Throne. If you give me the money, I'm sure I could bribe him to look the other way, while I escape with the rest of the slaves. After all, most of the Talons are going to be preoccupied with you. Well, how about it?"

"Child?" Jaheira asked. "What say you?"

The bard tossed her red hair back in a gesture of annoyance. "I'm hardly cheap enough not to think that we can spare a hundred," she said. "Besides, I hate slavery anyway. Can't stand even the thought of it." She noticed Edwin wince slightly. "No offence, Eddie," she hastily added. "I know it's not your personal fault, but the keeping of slaves in Thay really bothers me. I don't think I could ever work for the Red Wizards knowing of that." The explanation didn't really seem to make the wizard any happier though.

"Here you go," Imoen said, and swung open the door to Rill's cell. "Good lock that, but not too difficult for me of course." She smiled.

"Thank you!" the slave leader said once he had gratefully accepted the offered money. "Thank you so much. I wish you well, and hope that you can bring an end to this stinking operation." He paused. "Oh, another thing. In the dark cell at the end of this passage you will find a dwarf, one of the ones who lived here before. You should go talk to him, I think he knows a great deal about this place."

"I will," Zaerini said. "Good luck to you." She continued down the hallway, until she came upon a solitary door. Unlike the others, this one had no bars to let in light, and there were heavy chains on it, apart from the sturdy lock. "Immy?" Zaerini asked. "Think you can handle this one?"

"Sure," the pink-haired girl said, giving the lock a critical look. "It may look hard, but it's just a Dungeon Master 2000. And those can be picked as easy as this." She took out a slender metal instrument, inserted it into the lock and after a minute or so there was a loud 'click'. "See?" she said proudly. "Told ya."

Zaerini carefully swung the heavy door open and peeked inside. This cell didn't even have the filthy straw of the others. Just cold, bare stone. The prisoner sitting on the floor blinked owlishly at her, his eyes unaccustomed to the sudden light, faint as it was. Locking a person in total darkness for who knows how long is really cruel, the bard thought to herself. I guess somebody really wanted this guy to suffer.

The prisoner in question turned out to be a dwarf, currently looking rather thin and ill due to his recent mistreatment. He had managed to keep his blond beard more or less neat though. Good, Rini thought. That means he hasn't given up entirely. The day a dwarf ceases to take care of his beard he's either dead or permanently insane.

Well, grooming is very important, Softpaws said. I think you should do it yourself more often, several times a day like I do. I'll teach you how to do it properly.

Softy, you lick your own nether regions in public.

And your point is?

Never mind.

The dwarf seemed to have come to the conclusion that the people facing him weren't part of the bandit operation. He rose from the floor and approached them, a pleased smile on his face. "Strangers?" he said. "Can it be? Oh a fine sight are you, who ever you are! Sick to death of bandits I am! I have been cooped up the longest time, but if you've a spare mace I'd gladly swing it for yer cause. I can do things cleric wise as well, so I'm mind as well as muscle. By Clangeddin, a chance to right past wrongs! Can I join you?"

Another healer would be useful, Rini thought. Especially one who can fight. And he has a personal score to settle with the Throne, so I'm sure we'll be able to trust him. "I'm certainly interested," she said. "Perhaps you could just tell me who you are first? Am I right in assuming that you're one of the dwarves that lived here before the Throne took over?"

A shadow seemed to pass across the dwarf's friendly face. "Aye," he said, "that I be. The name is Yeslick, Yeslick Deepdelver. And delve deeply we did, me and my kinfolk. Too deeply. Anyway, these are my mines that the blasted Iron Throne has stolen. Well, they were my clan's home 125 years ago. Curse me for a fool, I trusted them! Years ago that blasted Reiltar gave me a good trade smithing for the Throne, and then I go and tell him about my old home! About how my clan had the richest iron mine on any coast, and how almost all were killed when we breached a riverbank. Lost most my kin in that flood. Those of us that survived couldn't bear to go back down. It was a giant watery tomb, and we left it the way she stood." The dwarf spat on the ground in disgust. "So I go and tell this to my "friend" Reiltar, and he has me chained up! He tortures the location outta me, and now this graveyard feeds the Iron Throne as they bleed the coast dry. That be the worst thing, far worse than the actual torture, him rubbing my face in the knowledge that I've been forced to help him rob and enslave people. If you want to cripple the plans of the Throne, help me flood these accursed mines once more! They plugged the breach, but knowing hands can loose the flow! We can drown these black-hearted rats in the very mine they've stolen!"

Zaerini made up her mind. She liked this dwarf, she felt sorry for him and his skills would likely be useful. The Prisoner, and the Priest. I see it now. First he was one, then the other, and now I can help set him free. Didn't guess they'd both turn out to be the same dwarf, but they did try their best to help me. "You're welcome to join us, Yeslick," she said, shaking hands with the dwarf, trying not to wince as he more or less squashed her slender fingers in a massive and callused fist. "This 'Reiltar' you mentioned - who is he?"

"Reiltar Anchev," Yeslick growled. "One of the high and mighty in the Throne he is, the sargh calass. Sits at the very top like a fly on a turd." He cracked his knuckles. "Fooled me, he did. Made me think he was to be trusted, a man of his word. But he's the worst kind of filth that one. It isn't enough that he win, if you've crossed him he wants to break you in the worst way possible so you never dare even think of doin' it again." He pointed at the filthy cell. "Wasn't enough for him to slam me in here and torture me. He wanted me to know what he was doing to me mine, the way he soiled it - and me."

"That's really awful."

"Aye, that it be. But he'll pay for it. One day when he least expects it, there I'll be to demand payment for his evil. In blood."

"An odd statement," Edwin remarked. "Not what I would have expected from a conventional dwarven priest at all."

"Quite true, lad, as far as this old dwarf is concerned. Normally I'd say that problems should be thought through, and that battle should be joined when necessary, but not before." Yeslick pointed at the disgusting cell behind him. "Well, in there I had plenty of time to think, and now it is time. Reiltar must pay for his betrayal of our friendship. And he will, one way or another. Yes, he will. This is the time to fight, not to pray."

"So it is," Zaerini said. "Yeslick, as I said you are welcome to join with us. We're heading for the deepest levels of the mines, to find the mage Daveorn. Can you guide us there?"

"Do elves have egos the size of planets?" The dwarf blushed as soon as he'd finished the sentence, looking embarrassed. "Sorry, lass. Just an old saying. Meant no harm by it."

"That's all right," the bard said with a wide grin. "I'm half-elf, anyway. And while I'm sure not all elves are bad, the last one I met recently certainly matched your description. I think you and me are going to get along just fine, particularly if you teach me some dwarven songs. I hear your people are very good at the epic kinds."

"That is so," Yeslick nodded, "and I'd be happy to do so. Once we're out o'this place I'll be pleased to teach ye some o'the more traditional ones. There's this one classic called 'Bags Of Gold', that's one o'my favorites. Very good for annoying elves. Flighty folk, elves, don't have the patience to sit through a proper dwarven song."

Rini put her arm through that of the dwarf, escorting him away from the dungeon. "Yeslick," she said, "I think this may be the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Sargh calass = filthy thief (approximately)