The Gemcutter's Daughter

18 - A Hopeful Plan

Iolur carefully arranged loose chunks of quartz into an impromptu map, using clefts and fissures in the cavern floor to represent rises and chasms. "These are the four corners of the world." He pointed to each as he named them. "Each runs deeper than the last. Lagarra is furthest from the Maker, then Kuldath, then Narghaasa, then S'rindarr."

    "What is this?" Tali gestured to the furthest point on the map. Instead of quartz, a solitary lump of iron ore marked it.

    The old, scarred deep-dwarf furrowed his brow. "That is Dzverin Ta'al, the Forbidden City," he rumbled, the dread in his tone sending a shiver down Tali's spine. "The seat of the Maker, where only the elder things can pass."

    "Elder things? Demons?" Tali still remembered how Lekt had spoken of the demon Haurus when they fought him. A sudden chill gripped her soul. It made sense, of course, but she felt foolish for not considering it already: likely, the Maker was a demon himself. "Iolur, what can you tell me about the one you call the Maker?"

    Yari sat down beside the young dwarf, working on fashioning a new fishing hook out of a slim piece of iron and sinew. A deep and abiding grimness seemed to claim her as she considered Tali's question.

    The old deep dwarf glanced around. "It is better not to speak of that one. He has many ears, even in the wilds. He is a thing that does not sleep, does not die."

    "He whispers in the heart of every one of us." Yari's fingers still worked away at her current task as she carefully knotted the sinew line and then set to work shaping and sharpening the hook.

    Iolur tilted his head as if he was listening intently for some hidden eavesdropper, clicking harshly to send sound cascading out from their little group. It echoed and distorted off the many crystalline growths, but revealed no one except the other deep dwarves. "Some hear him more clearly than others."

    Tali worried at her lower lip for a moment, brow furrowed as she considered that. "Do the Chosen hear him better?"

    Yari nodded, the movement easily perceived in the echoing sounds of voices. "That is all they know. I was almost one of them. I still...it is so very loud."

    The young dwarf's face creased in sympathy. "That sounds very difficult. I'm sorry."

    "It is not a fault of yours." Iolur's tone was almost grandfatherly, if a bit growling.

    Jarek stretched his lanky limbs to Tali's other side, humming pensively for a moment before speaking. "A tangent, if you will."

    Tali nodded, aware that Iolur and Yari both turned to her when the necromancer went to speak. She was more than willing to accept any help that Jarek might offer, particularly if it was wisdom that could help in this.

    The necromancer rubbed at his chin in thought. "I find it surprising that you and your kin think so well of dwarves, Iolur."

    Iolur picked up the lump of quartz that symbolized Lagarra, turning it over in his hands like a worry-stone. "Tali is not the first we have known. There have been...others. Pieces of another world. Bring together enough, they show a pattern." He cocked an ear at Tali. "You are different. You chose to come to us. You are...whole."

    "For the moment," Jarek agreed. "Though we all may be rather less than that if your Maker finds his way here."

    The deep dwarves shuddered almost in unison at that thought. It was Yari who first broke the dreadful silence. "He does not leave Dzverin Ta'al often." Her tone was so hushed that even to Tali it was barely audible. "When he does, all things die in his wake."