Friends Close, Enemies Closer

Dahlen's heart caught in his throat as he stepped through the doorway. Standing there, in the middle of the sparse stone room, one hand pressed to his side, the other wrapped in a bandage and grasping the hilt of a sword, was Ihvon. Behind him, another man – the assassin – lay in a crumpled heap, hands bound by a rope that was knotted to a bolt that had been driven into the floor. "Dahlen… You're alive."

The last time Dahlen had seen Ihvon, the man had been lying unconscious on a stretcher in the Heart of Durakdur, Kira's dwarves and the Kingsguard carving chunks from each other around him. Dahlen's first instinct was to go to Ihvon, to check that his friend was all right. It felt strange to think of Ihvon as a friend – they hadn't known each other for long – but that's exactly what Ihvon was: a friend. And friends weren't something Dahlen had many of. But he could see something in Ihvon's face, a hesitancy, and so he stayed in the doorway, his muscles tensing. "As are you." A moment passed, and Dahlen took a step forward. "It's good to see you on your feet."

Ihvon moved back, ensuring he stood between Dahlen and the prisoner. He lifted his sword, grimacing, the wound from the knife the assassin had driven into his ribs still plaguing him. Ihvon inclined his head towards the corridor behind Dahlen, where the three Kingsguard lay unconscious. "As much as the sentiment is returned, it appears you do not come as a friend. What are you doing, Dahlen?"

"They are all alive. I swear it."

Ihvon looked to Belina, raising an eyebrow. "She doesn't do 'alive.'"

"Because it's you, Ihvon. Full honesty – I stabbed two of them but only in the leg and the elbow. They'll live. But judging by the hand he was holding his sword with, I think one of them might have difficulty with, eh…" Belina closed her hand into a fist and moved it up and down. "You know." Both Dahlen and Ihvon stared at Belina, but she just shrugged — as she always did. "I said full honesty."

Ihvon turned back to Dahlen, shaking his head, a hardness setting into his eyes. "What is this, Dahlen?"

"I've come for him." Dahlen gestured towards the assassin, who lay in a heap behind Ihvon. "Kira needs proof an attempt was made on Daymon's life the same night one was made on hers. He is the only proof we have."

"I can't let you take him. This man tried to kill Daymon. He cannot go free. Daymon would never—"

"Daymon is the reason we're here, Ihvon!" Dahlen could do nothing to stop his voice from rising, anger seeping into his words. Ihvon was one of the wisest men Dahlen had ever met, but when it came to Daymon, the man was as blind as a bat. "He made a deal with Pulroan. He knew those assassins were coming. He let everything happen. He's been playing you all along, Ihvon. He's been playing us all."

"I know." Ihvon let out a heavy sigh, lowering his sword.

"You know?"

"Well, I didn't know for sure he'd made a deal with Pulroan, but I had suspected. He's met with her far too many times, and each time he would either make an excuse or start an argument so he could dismiss me. I've known Daymon since the moment he drew his first breath. I know when he's lying. And I know he tried to have you arrested to cover something up. He's been acting strangely for a while now. He kept pushing to confront the dwarves, kept calling for action, even when it made no sense. Even now, he wants the assassin to hang. He's anxious, paranoid. He's not himself, Dahlen."

"I don't give two shits about Daymon. There's no excuse for what he's done. I'm here to keep these people from starving to death. If I can bring proof to Kira that an attempt was made on Daymon's life, she might back off."

"You can't trust dwarves, Dahlen. They're oath-breakers. She'll stab you in the back first chance she gets."

"Don't tell me who I can and can't trust. She's been more honest with me than either you or Daymon. She doesn't want bloodshed, Ihvon. Not with Belduar. But Daymon has forced her hand. And it wasn't her who had a knife stuck in your side."

"It doesn't matter." Ihvon let out a grunt as he shifted his stance, his long-broken nose wrinkling. "If Daymon made a deal with Pulroan, he's as culpable as she is. The dwarves will take his head from his shoulders and leave our people to rot here. I can't let that happen." Ihvon bit his lip, looking back at the man who lay behind him. "I can't, Dahlen. I can't put Daymon's head on a block."

"Why do you protect him? He's a coward. He'd sell the skin off your back if he thought it would save his."

"He's a boy!" The fury in Ihvon's voice took Dahlen off guard. "He's a child, Dahlen. He wasn't ready for this. He's drowning, swallowing water, just trying to stay afloat. I caused this. I can't just let him fall."

"You caused this? Ihvon, you had nothing to do with this. You've stood by him at every turn. Even now, after his actions almost killed you." Dahlen drew in a breath, holding it for a moment before releasing it. "I haven't told Kira what Daymon has done." Dahlen could see the surprise on Ihvon's face. The man lowered his blade slightly. With Ihvon's injuries, Dahlen was sure he could simply get the better of him and leave with what they'd come for — particularly with Belina's aid — but that wasn't how he wanted to do things. "I told you. I'm here to make sure the Belduarans are safe. I couldn't give a fuck if Daymon hangs from a bridge, but right now, keeping the blame from his head keeps these people safe."

Ihvon started to speak, but a flash of recognition crossed his face, and he stopped. Before Dahlen could say anything else, Belina stepped across him. "I've had enough with you two measuring dicks. Despite wanting to stab that rat-faced little prick you call a king, Ihvon, what Dahlen is trying to do will likely be the only way that snot-nosed shit gets out of this alive. And, if it matters to you, so will all the others inside this stone-entombed animal pen. You're better than this."

"Belina, you know I love these people. I—"

"Save it, Ihvon. We've known each other a long time and I know that face. You're stubborn as a mountain on a good day, and that face tells me it's a bad day. Keep all your fancy words of honour and duty and all the other shit you spout. Dahlen could have left. In fact, I asked him to. But he stayed. Despite the fact that your turd-hearted dickweed of a king tried to pin him with the blame for his own incompetence, Dahlen stayed. Now, there is clearly something else going on within that thick skull of yours. But if you believe any of the crap you spout about looking after the people of Belduar, you will let us take that man to Kira. And if you don't, I will drop you on that senile old arse of yours and stick a knife through the hand you pleasure yourself with. Then, we will take him anyway." Belina shrugged. "And while we're sharing here today, you call dwarves oathbreakers yet serve a king who is more concerned about saving his own skin than the starvation and sickness of those he is sworn to protect. I've only spoken with Kira once, but it is clear she has more integrity in her little toe than that rat-bastard has in his entire body. And another thing—"

"Belina." Dahlen rested his hand on Belina's shoulder, and to his surprise she actually stopped, her breaths slow and trembling as she met his gaze. Dahlen inclined his head, giving her a soft smile. He turned to Ihvon, stepping past the man's blade. "Your duty is to the men and women out there who are starving and sick. It's to the children who might never feel the sun's light again or grow old enough to know what it is to feel the warmth of another. You owe them. Not him. They are here because of what he has done, and I won't let them pay with their lives. I won't!" Dahlen shook, clenching his jaw to stop it from trembling. He held Ihvon's gaze, trying his best to control his breathing. He hadn't felt the anger rising. He slowed his breathing. "If you don't let us take that man, Daymon and everyone else here will die of hunger and disease. It will be slow and painful. Even if you don't care for the people, which I don't believe for a second, us walking out of here with that man is the only way Daymon has a chance of living."

Ihvon stared back at Dahlen, his eyes dark and ringed with purple. Slowly, Ihvon let his sword fall to his side, nodding. "Take him. Bring him to Kira. I will do what I can to reason with Daymon. He has a good heart. He's just lost."

After Belina and Dahlen left with the assassin, Ihvon pressed his back against the stone wall, sliding to the ground. He ran his hands across his smooth head; once it had been full of thick, black hair.

He had caused this. All of it. Had he not been weak, the Fade would never have gotten into Belduar. Arthur would still be sitting on his throne. Daymon would be unburdened, learning the tenets of rule from a man far more qualified than Ihvon. Belduar would still be standing, its people – his people – would not be trapped beneath a mountain of stone, beholden to the whims of warring dwarves, and starving.

Ihvon swallowed hard, running his fingers over the mess of twisted flesh that had once been his ear. He let out a long breath. He had taken that injury the day the Depth Stalkers had taken Alyana and Khris from him. Khris's screams still plagued Ihvon's nightmares, echoing into the waking world, scratching at him day and night.

Nobody understood. Not Arthur, not Aeson. They had always told him the dwarves were not to blame for what had happened. That if they had gone back, they all would've died. Ihvon would've died. But that was just the point. The dwarves had taken that from him. They had kept him from dying with his family. They had forced him to live without the warm touch of Alyana's lips, without the curious questions of Khris's mind.

That anger was what the Fade had twisted, and as a result, Ihvon had caused the death of his closest friend, a man he'd known his entire life, a man who had trusted him implicitly. Now that friend's son held the weight of an entire people on his shoulders. And Daymon was crumbling.

Once again, nobody understood. Ihvon had taken Daymon's father from him. He had caused all this pain. And now, no matter what road they walked down, Ihvon would not allow Daymon to stand alone. He would not.

Kira sat on her throne atop the dais in the council chamber. She had been there for an hour or so, one leg crossed over the other, her chin resting on the knuckles of her right hand. Even though her armour had been crafted to fit her perfectly, it still scratched and itched. Wearing it to battle was one thing, but wearing it every moment she was awake was tiring. The steel weighed her down, making the burden on her shoulders a physical thing. But she wore it because it was her duty to do so. She was at war. Whether the word had been said aloud or not, that was the truth of it. She was at war. And despite appearances, it was not a war with humans, with the people of Belduar. It was a war among her own kind. She would never ask her warriors to raise an axe against their own unless she was willing to do so herself.

Whether or not Daymon had played any part in what happened, she had no doubt the man was not the mastermind behind it all. He didn't have the intelligence for it, and what wits he did have were spent feeding the ego of the petulant child within him. His only true motivation was to be like his father – that much was clear. In a way, Kira pitied him. Arthur Bryne had been a strong ruler, and he had been a man she respected. To live in that shadow was no easy task. But just because she pitied him, didn't mean she wouldn't crush him if needed. No, if Daymon was anything, he was a puppet dancing on the strings of another.

Elenya, Hoffnar, and Pulroan. At least one had betrayed them all. Kira let out a sombre laugh, sitting back in her chair, looking about the chamber, her gaze passing over the statues of the gods and the empty thrones atop the dais around her. The Freehold had been formed almost a millennium ago, after centuries of war between the kingdoms. It had not been perfect, but it had lasted. It had persevered. And through that perseverance, the stone of the mountain had been deprived of dwarven blood, and each kingdom had thrived. But it appeared that time of peace was now gone.

She'd heard from the rumours of those who had been travelling that night that Hoffnar no longer drew breath. Kira had not believed it at first. Surely it could not have been true. In the days after, Kira had tried to send scouts to Volkur, and to Azmar and Ozryn, but all three had closed their Wind Tunnels, as she had. As the days passed and emissaries arrived from Elenya and Pulroan, no word came from Hoffnar, and Volkur's Wind Tunnels remained closed. Either all those eligible were vying for the throne, carving chunks of flesh from each other in the hopes of grasping power, or Hoffnar was responsible for the attacks and had closed off his Kingdom in preparation for war.

Both Pulroan and Elenya had assured Kira of their innocence and offered aid in containing the Belduarans in Durakdur, which she had accepted on the condition that Elenya and Pulroan themselves come to Durakdur. Her advisors had warned her against doing so. But if either or both of Elenya and Pulroan were responsible for the attacks, it was best to have them close. They could not wage war surrounded by Kira's armies.

Kira lifted herself to her feet, turning to the statue of Hafaesir behind her throne. The Smith, the patron god of all dwarves. Their creator. Kira held strong faith in the gods, but she was not like some zealots who used their twisted beliefs in preordained fate to justify their deeds. Her fate was her own, her path carved through the force of her own will. She had not inherited the crown, like the kings and queens of men and elves. She had earned it, chosen by her people as the one to lead, as was the dwarven way. Still, she couldn't help but ask the question: "Why?" She moved her gaze from the hammer in Hafaesir's hand, to the thick plate that covered his arms and chest, to the knotted beard laced with rings that fell from his face. "We are your people. Why do you not step in when we threaten to spill our own blood?"

She had not expected a response. The gods did not wait around, listening to the whispers of mortals. Kira let out a sigh, running her hand through her ring-laden hair.

A booming clang echoed through the short corridor outside the chamber, followed by footsteps and shouts. Kira turned to face the double doors that marked the chamber's entrance.

"Stop. You can't just—"

The doors to the council chamber burst open, Dahlen Virandr and his companion striding through, tossing a cloaked man to the floor.

"Here is your proof." Dahlen looked up at the queen, who stood on the raised semi-circular dais in the centre of the chamber, the statues of the gods and the banners of the kingdoms arrayed behind her. She wore the same steel plate she had worn at their meeting by the waterfall. A pair of long hand axes hung from the weapons belt strapped to her hips, and a large double-bladed battleaxe rested against the side of her throne. She's ready for war.

Kira's Queensguard took up positions around Dahlen and Belina, two on each side, axes hefted in their grips, crimson cloaks touching the stone floor. Unable to stop Dahlen and Belina from entering without coming to blows, they had settled with surrounding them – a compromise Dahlen was more than happy with.

Kira stayed silent as she descended from the dais, eyes fixed on the man who knelt on the ground before them. The clink of her boots on stone reverberated through the chamber, each one clear and unchallenged by any other sound, bar the thumping of Dahlen's heart.

Kira stopped before the assassin and pulled the man's hood from his head to reveal a face that had been beaten black and blue, a nose so shattered it could have been made of glass, and an eye so bloody and broken Dahlen was sure it would never be of use again. Dahlen grimaced at the sight of the man's mangled face. The last he'd seen of the assassin, the man's nose had been shattered by Ihvon, but the new damage had been freshly dealt.

"You treat your prisoners well, then." The queen placed her hand beneath the man's chin, lifting it so he met her gaze, not a hint of sarcasm in her voice. "If he had been my prisoner, I would have taken his hands, then there would be no need for these bonds. To leave an assassin with his hands is to wait for a blade in your back."

"I like her," Belina whispered, folding her arms, her lips forming into an impressed pout. "What?" She gave Dahlen a look of innocence in response to his glare. "Tell me a single word she said that wasn't true."

Kira let the man's chin drop. "You have my thanks. My questioners will glean the truth from him. Then we will act accordingly. If he confirms what you have told me, I will grant Daymon an audience."

"Give me five minutes alone in a room with him." Belina tilted her head to the side, staring at the assassin. "He'll talk. I can guarantee it."

"Belina! That—"

A spluttering cough interrupted Dahlen, the assassin dragging in a ragged breath. He lifted his head to Kira. "If you permit, I will tell you what you want to know."

"And why would you do that?" Kira asked, dropping to one knee before the assassin, meeting his gaze.

The man coughed again, splattering the ground with blood, droplets marring the surface of Kira's pristine armour. "I've seen too many summers to be stupid enough to endure torture in the name of gold. A reputation can be rebuilt. A body cannot. Ask me your questions, and I will answer. After, set me free, and you will never see me again. You won't find a fairer trade."

"And how do I know you will be truthful?"

"How do you ever know? Are answers extracted through pain and mutilation guaranteed to be more truthful than those openly given?" Dahlen couldn't help but be impressed by the man's composure. Had that been him kneeling before the dwarven queen of Durakdur with the threat of torture and death looming over him, he did not think he would be so calm. "How would you ever know if what I say is truthful? If anything, I would be more likely to spew lies to questions of which I did not have the answers, simply to end the pain. Ask me your questions, and I will answer honestly. Then let me go. Honesty for honesty."

Kira rose, turning back towards the dais. "Who hired you?"

"I do not know. My instructions are left for me in a chest in The Cloak and Dagger in Azmar, along with half the coin. The other half is left once the task is completed."

Kira didn't look back at the man. "How did you get into the Freehold?"

"We have always been here, in one form or another. But I came, along with others, on your Wind Runners during the evacuation."

Belina stepped past Dahlen and dropped to her haunches beside the man. "The Hand will hunt you."

"I know." The man grimaced. "Just as they hunted you, Belina Louna. But you hunted them back. You are legend."

Belina patted the man on the cheek. "But you are not me. They will hunt you, and they will kill you."

"Better die with a blade in my hand than strapped to a bench while being tortured."

"Truth." Belina rose to her feet, moving back to Dahlen's side. "May Heraya embrace you."

Kira looked from the assassin to Belina, then back again, curiosity in her eyes. "Did you make an attempt on the life of King Daymon of Belduar?"

"I did. Our instructions were to kill the King and his advisor, Ihvon Arnell."

"And myself? Queen Elenya? Pulroan? Hoffnar?"

"I do not know. We are broken into groups, with each group only ever informed of their own tasks to prevent a situation such as this from rippling. But I was told to say it was Elenya who sent me."

Kira nodded. "Thank you. Your honesty has been appreciated." Kira pulled a hand axe from the loop of her belt and placed it into the man's bound hands. Dahlen was confused at first, but then the man gave a slow nod, bowing his head. In a flash, Kira pulled her second hand axe free and swung the blade into the side of the man's head with a wet crack. The steel was wedged so tight only a thin stream of blood trickled around it. The assassin twitched, reaching his hand up to feel the blade of the axe. He dropped to his side, rolling onto his back, still twitching. He stayed like that until his lungs stopped drawing breath and his eyes rolled to the back of his head, the life fleeing from his body.

"What was that?" Dahlen roared, taking a step closer to Kira as her Queensguard held him back. "He told you what you wanted to know. You gave him your word!"

Kira put her foot on the man's chest and heaved her axe free, blood spraying in a single spurt. "He was a hired assassin. One of a number who attempted to kill Daymon and all the rulers of the Freehold. What if there is no orchestrator? What if the empire is trying to set us against each other? Either way, he was not a man who could be set free. Deep down, he knew that. He died with a blade in his hand, just as he wished."

Belina rested her hand on Dahlen's shoulder. "I don't like it either, but it is a better death than he would've received from the Hand. They don't tolerate betrayal."

"You gave him your word." The words left Dahlen's throat in a growl as he leaned against the Queensguard.

Kira wiped the blood from her axe with a cloth she'd pulled from her belt, then slipped it back into the loop at her hip, picking up her second axe from the floor and doing the same. She gestured for her Queensguard to step aside, then moved so she was only a few inches from Dahlen. For someone who stood almost a foot shorter than Dahlen, in her plate armour, axes hanging from her belt, blood speckling her otherwise pale skin, and a cold ferocity in her eyes, Kira cut a strikingly intimidating figure. "My people are on the verge of war, Dahlen Virandr. Do you understand what that means? War? It means their lives hang in the balance of every decision I make. The empire slaughtered the dwarves of Kolmir and Helmund. They burned the dwarves of the Rolling Mountains alive in dragonfire. My entire species constantly teeters on the edge of existence. The dwarves of the Lodhar Freehold, the dwarves of Aonar, and the dwarves of the Jade Mountain in Arkalen are all that remains of our once proud people. If you for a second think that I would weigh their lives as equal to that of a cut-throat who sought my blood, you are a terrible judge of character. I am not Daymon. I care little for my own life compared to that of my people. I will do anything to keep them safe." She looked back down at the assassin's lifeless body, letting out a sigh. "I do not like Daymon Bryne. He is a shadow of what his father was, and what's worse, he has but a sliver of Arthur's compassion. But I do not seek war with Belduar, nor do I wish the senseless loss of life. There is already enough blood to be spilt. You may go to him and tell him I wish to talk of peace. If he agrees, I will meet him here. Mirlak will take a regiment of my guard with you." Kira gestured towards one of the Queensguard, who stood to her right.

Dahlen looked to Belina, who nodded. He bit the corner of his lip. "No."

"No?"

"The Belduarans in the refugee quarters are starving. You know this. While you and Daymon trade words, they will continue to starve. Give me food to bring to them, and I will deliver your message to Daymon."

Dahlen knew he had nothing to bargain with. Kira could have left the Belduarans to starve, and there was nothing he could have done about it. But from what she had just said of her own people, he didn't think her the type to leave people to starve – despite the coldness with which she had killed the assassin.

Kira tapped her fingers along the head of the axe that hung at her right hip, her tongue running across cracked lips. "I will arrange for wagons of grain, fruit, beans, and roots. When they are ready, you will leave with them and deliver my message."

"You have my thanks, Your Majesty." Dahlen inclined his head. He wasn't always sure how to behave around royalty, and he was certain he often got it wrong, but he tried. Another thought niggled at the back of his mind. "Your Majesty. There are more Belduarans beyond Durakdur. There are those in the other cities. What word do you have of them?"

A weak smile touched Kira's face. "Both Elenya and Pulroan assure me the Belduarans in their cities are well. I cannot imagine they are much better off than those here, but they are alive. As for those in Volkur, I do not know. The Wind Tunnels to Volkur have been closed since the attacks and I have heard nothing from Hoffnar. They may still draw breath, but I would not hold out hope. If the assassins in Volkur did indeed succeed in killing Hoffnar, there will undoubtedly be those among the Volkurans who blame the humans. It is better to hope for the best but prepare for the worst. For now, my commander, Mirlak, will bring you somewhere you can eat, drink, and wash. Forgive me for saying so, but you smell like shit."

Belina burst out laughing. "I told you!"

Kira folded her arms across her chest as Mirlak escorted Belina and Dahlen from the chamber. She had not laid eyes on Belina before this day, but despite the woman's outwardly lax demeanour, it was clear she was a warrior of some skill. And if the words that had passed between her and the assassin held truth, she had not only once been a member of the Hand but had also broken free – a feat Kira did not believe was an easy one.

But it was not Belina that held Kira's attention. Dahlen Virandr was a human of integrity – a quality few of them possessed. He was, by all measure, his father's son. The young man had no stake in this, and if he'd wanted to, Kira was sure he and Belina could have found a way to leave Lodhar with little effort. But he had stayed, and the woman had decided to stay with him. Both of those things said more than words ever could. A man who not only chose to weigh his life against the lives of those for whom he bore no oath, and a man who could convince a woman like that to do the same.

If Dahlen Virandr had been king of Belduar instead of Daymon Bryne, this all would have been very different.