Book of Heroes: George of Sedona I - 16. Kingdom of the Dwarves

Chapter 16: Kingdom of the Dwarves

The smith and the cleric led the expedition. They were accompanied by two soldiers and the two men who had inspected the aqueduct 30 years ago. Pack horses carried supplies. Arthur and George rode at the rear of the column; Gary, with Theo sitting behind him, followed the smith.

“Gary likes Theo,” George said. “I can tell.”

“I’m glad he can make a friend,” Arthur said. “Gary’s not had much opportunity, save Cooper, to know boys his own age.”

“I know how that is,” George said. “I didn’t have many friends back home—on Earth, I mean.”

“That’s not surprising,” Arthur said. “You told me that you moved every couple of years.”

“Yeah,” George said. “But that’s not the reason. I knew I was gay when I was, like, 10 years old. After that, I just didn’t want to be friends with the straight boys. I just couldn’t talk about girls and sex and pretend I was normal. One of my aunts called me Turtle. I think she suspected, but she never said anything.”

“You make friends easily, now,” Arthur said. “Is sex the only difference, do you think?”

George was silent for so long that Arthur thought he’d forgotten the question, and was surprised when George did speak. “No!” George was emphatic. “It’s not that. Well, it’s not all that.” He grinned. “But it does help.”

George looked straight ahead. Arthur could barely hear the boy’s voice. “It helps to know that I’m not a freak. It helps to know that no one is going to beat me up because I’m queer.” His voice became quieter, and Arthur had to strain to hear. “Mostly…mostly, it’s because you believe in me.”

Arthur smiled at George, and saw ineffable joy in the boy’s face. “That,” Arthur said, “is what being best friends is about.”

*****

After two days of easy riding, they picketed the horses in a mountain meadow. One of the soldiers remained to tend them while the rest of the party continued on foot. The smith was concerned that Theo could not keep up, but he outpaced even George and Arthur. Theo hung his lute around his neck and strummed it constantly.

He’s seeing the path from the echoes, Arthur thought. And it seems that he’s seeing it better than we are with our eyes. He has an awesome talent.

The path curled around the mountain and made switchbacks as it climbed. Indeed, calling it a path was somewhat pretentious; it was more a gulley, created over aeons by rain and melting snow before the aqueduct diverted the water into the town.

At last, however, the party stood at the edge of a lake, one in a string of lakes that filled a vast bowl.

“Pater noster lakes,” George said, excited by the discovery. “This is a glacial valley.”

“Our father?” Arthur asked, translating the Latin into the common tongue. “Where does that name come from?”

“They form a chain, like the beads of a rosary,” George said. “Hail Mary and Our Father…”

“I see the connection,” Arthur said. “Perhaps you’d better not let the cleric hear you. He might know enough Old Elvish to figure out the meaning, and he could ask some awkward questions.

“See that cave? And the spillway below it? Water has flowed over it…and joined the river that feeds the town’s aqueduct,” Arthur added. “Recently, too. There’s still water in some of the kettle holes. After a heavy rain, during especially heavy spring floods, water from the cave enters the town’s water supply.”

“Weather…spring floods…weather comes in seven year cycles,” the cleric said. “Of course! I’m twice an idiot.”

“We need to find out what’s in the cave,” the soldier said. “Is it safe?”

Arthur frowned, and then spoke quietly to the cleric. The cleric spoke to the smith, who consulted with the two men who had visited the site three decades earlier. “The mountain is sound,” the smith announced. “The appearance hasn’t changed since before.” He turned to the cleric.

“The mountain is a locus—a center—of magic,” the cleric said. “That makes it hard for Arthur and me to see inside, or to detect danger. Not that there’s any reason to believe there will be danger,” he hastened to add.

“Will we need torches, then?” George asked. Gary had helped him put an iron ring on one end of his quarterstaff, and Arthur had taught him how to glow it.

“No,” Arthur said. “Mage light is a simple spell, so we’ll use it. We should take the torches with us, though.”

The walls of the cave danced with rainbows and multi-colored shadows as the ruddy light of the iron ring on George’s quarterstaff mixed with the green light from the smith’s staff and an actinic blue from the cleric’s staff. “The smith’s ring is copper,” Gary explained to George. I don’t know what the cleric’s is…but I think it’s mithral.”

The cleric, who had overheard Gary’s whisper, confirmed the boy’s guess. “It is mithral,” he said. “This quarterstaff was given to the Albion temple during the last great war. An elven soldier who was healed at the temple left it to show his gratitude. It’s been passed from one cleric to another for more than 6,000 years.”

They all saw it at the same time: the rugged natural surfaces of the cave gave way to smooth floor and walls as the ceiling rose to more than 30 feet. “I wonder how old this is,” Gary said.

“It may be aeons old,” Arthur said, but it’s been undisturbed for at least hundreds of years. See that stalagmite? And see the stalactite above it? It took water a long time to deposit that much calcite.”

The smith frowned at Arthur’s mention of calcite. That was one of the words in the Smith Guild’s arcana. The smith shook his head. Whoever this boy was, he was no threat, but he did know a lot of things he shouldn’t.

“Here’s a door!” The soldiers said. He had taken the lead despite the unlikelihood that they’d encounter anyone…or anything.

“Any chance it might close behind us?” the cleric asked, looking from Arthur to the smith.

The smith, with Arthur’s comment about calcite deposits in mind, pointed to the stalagmites at the edge of the door. “It’s not been moved in centuries, and that’s solid rock, now. It’s not going to swing shut.”

They had walked another half hour when low rumble was followed by a boom. “E… e… earthquake?” the cleric stuttered.

“No, not an earthquake,” the smith said. “There was no dust, and no shaking of the ground. Only the sound. Someone has closed a door behind us. I was wrong.”

Scarcely had the echo of his voice died away when the mage-lit quarterstaffs went dark. In response to his companions’ gasps, Theo strummed his lute. The sound of an E minor chord burst forth. “We are not alone,” he said.

The voice that followed was nearly as deep as the rumble of the closing door had been. “There are strangers here.”

A second voice, a tween’s tenor, added, “And one is thief.”

Light blazed from every direction. The party was surrounded by figures limned in yellow light. As his eyes adjusted to this new light, Arthur saw that the people were dwarves. They held double-headed war axes. The shards of lights that danced from the blades attested to their sharpness. Behind each armed warrior stood a shorter figure holding a staff—a quarterstaff, with a ring. Can they all be mages? George wondered.

Under the unblinking eyes of armed warriors—men and tweens, a boy wrapped a blue cord around the hilt and guard of Arthur’s sword. Beside him, other boys did the same to the others’ weapons. Gary looked to Arthur for understanding, but Arthur could only shake his head. George caught the movement. “Peace bond,” he said.

“You know our custom?” The tenor voice was that of a tween. He stood facing George. The tween was a few inches shorter than George, but stocky. He looks like a high school wrestler, George thought as the boy approached him.

“It is my custom, too,” George said. His voice was bold and betrayed none of his inner trembling. “At a faire—a renaissance faire—armed warriors displayed a cord like that to show peaceful intentions, to show that they would not respond to challenges. No one displaying a peace bond would be thought a coward for not fighting.”

“You speak well, boy,” the dwarf said. Approval was evident in his voice. “Who your master?”

“Arthur,” George began, looking toward that boy. “He— ”

“Ah!” the dwarf said, interrupting whatever else George was about to say. “Thief who wears sword made for…” Something he saw in Arthur’s eyes gave him pause. “Made for another,” he finished his sentence, although it was clear that was not what he had intended to say.

“The sword is not stolen. It was given to me by its rightful owner,” Arthur asserted. “Surely you have a sembler who can attest—”

“Will see,” the boy said. Then, his eyes sweeping over the human party. “You understand Peace Bond? You…obey bond?”

George and Gary looked to Arthur. “Yes,” he said. The others responded, as well, although the soldier was clearly unhappy with the situation.

“Then follow,” the boy, said.

He’s their leader, Arthur thought, despite his age.

They were led deeper into the cavern. Arthur tried to memorize the route, but the twists and turns were too many and too complex. After perhaps an hour of walking, the corridor opened into a cavern nearly a hundred yards wide and thrice that long. The dwarves that surrounded Arthur’s party paused while one of the boys ran ahead. Arthur pushed to the fore of the group and studied the cavern.

The cavern was bright. Light seemed to come from shafts that somehow channeled sunlight deep into the mountain. Can they be using mirrors or prisms? Arthur wondered. Perhaps they use magic. This is a huge expanse. Along the walls, doors with elaborately carved and painted lintels and jambs opened into private homes. The cavern, itself was a large common area. The village green, Arthur thought. The floor is stone, but it’s the village green. That’s something that was lost in this world. We can’t afford large green spaces in a walled city or town, and almost all of our cities and towns are walled.

The activity in the cavern stopped as people caught sight of the party. Here, a group of boys had been sparring with war axes; there, another group with quarterstaffs. Near the homes, an underground stream had been diverted to power a mill at which flax was being pounded. Next to the mill, looms clattered. Women and girls stopped their work, and stood, better to see the visitors. Children ran from group to group, and a susurrus of whispers echoed through the cavern.

A flash of light from the far end of the cavern was the signal their escorts had awaited. “King see you, now,” the dwarf with the tenor voice said.

Arthur took the lead, and bowed to the Dwarven King in the manner he had learned when he served at the elven court. The others, lacking both training and experience, bowed awkwardly. Following Arthur’s lead, they remained silent.

“You are the leader?” the king said, looking at Arthur.

“Your Majesty, I brought these people into your lands,” Arthur said. “Therefore, I accept responsibility.”

“That was not my question,” the king said. “However, your answer is correct. Why are you here?”

Arthur described finding the tainted water, and the aftermath. “Therefore,” he concluded his description of the water, its effect on the people of Albion, and their suspicions about its origin, “therefore, we came here to find a way to protect the village and its people.”

“Why did you enter our caverns?” the king asked. “The river flows on the surface.”

“Your Majesty is correct that the river feeding the village aqueduct flows on the surface; however, when rain is heavy, water enters the cavern, perhaps through sinkholes, and flows out the entrance, joining the river. I believe it is then that the water picks up some mineral that contains the poisonous metal.”

The tween who had led the party of dwarves had been standing beside the king. When Arthur finished speaking, he whispered something to the king. He’s the sembler, Arthur thought.

The king spoke to the tween. “Peter, take them to bathe; feed them; provide a place to sleep. I will speak with this one, alone.”

Arthur’s anxiety for the safety of George and Gary, as well as the rest of the party, was eased considerably by the king’s words. The king gestured to Arthur to come closer. “Sit, there,” the king said, pointing to a stool next to the throne.

*****

…truth bears its own impress…
—Samuel Butler, Erewhon

“The sword you wear was made for Prince Richard, later King of Elvenhold. It was made by my ancestors—those who sheltered the prince, and who later freed Arcadia from Darkness. This was five lifetimes ago.” The dwarven king looked closely at Arthur. “I know that sword, for I wear its brother.”

Fire danced from the stones on the king’s goblet as he drank. Arthur sipped from a plainer goblet. “Much can happen in five lifetimes…ten lifetimes for an elf, and fifty for a human. Yet to think that this sword came into the possession of a human is beyond belief. You believe it to be the truth when you say it is rightfully yours.”

The king stood. Arthur, schooled in courtship, hastened to rise, but the king put his hands on Arthur’s shoulders and pressed him into the stool. “I will know the truth…all of the truth.”

Arthur thought faster than he ever had before. I may be able to learn the secret of the sword’s magic. But if I tell him enough to satisfy him, I may place George and Gary in danger. What does destiny want?

But destiny was silent.

Wait! Here’s a way, Arthur thought.

“I and my companions accepted Peace Bond because we believed you to be honorable, and not to be an enemy,” he began. The dwarven king’s expression was as stony as the walls of the chamber, but he nodded.

“I know that aeons ago, the dwarven Kingdoms below Arcadia freed that country from Darkness. I know that the Arcadians defeated Evil in Elvenhold and brought Richard to the throne. I did not know that King Richard’s sword had been made by those dwarves. In fact, my liege-father, King Oberon, who gave me this sword, likely does not know that story. He should.”

The dwarven king’s eyes narrowed when Arthur called King Oberon his liege-father, using the intimate form of that word, rather than the general form that any citizen of Elvenhold would have used.

“An error in a single word, indeed, in a single syllable,” the king said, “can change the meaning of a herald’s message.”

Arthur understood. “I speak with precision, your Majesty. I also speak with trepidation, because I am responsible for the safety of two boys, sworn to me. I also have a grave responsibility for the others in our party, for it was I who proposed their journey.”

“Put aside your fears,” the king said. “However strange, what you say is true.”

“You’re the sembler?” Arthur blurted.

The king nodded. “The sword is no longer an issue; however, the poison in the water is. Can you, with certainty, identify the source if it can be located?”

“Actually, your majesty, actually, yes,” Arthur said.

*****

Elsewhere in the cavern, a different conversation took place. “Bathe here,” Peter said. “Not you.” This last was said to George. “Your master is thief. You bathe alone, after others.”

“Take that back,” George said. His voice was quiet but firm. “Arthur is not a thief.”

“You call me false-sayer, boy?” Peter said. “You challenge my honor?”

“I accepted the Peace Bond,” George said. “I stand by that. But if you say Arthur is a thief, I say you speak falsely. I will not say liar, for you may speak through ignorance, and not malice.”

“Now you call me fool!” Peter said. “I challenge you.”

George folded his hands across his chest. “I accepted the Peace Bond; you cannot challenge me.”

“Not swords,” Peter said. “We wrestle. Now.” He began to remove his shirt.

“You can’t do this!” Gary whispered. “He’s ten times stronger than you are!”

Indeed, Peter’s muscles were sharply defined. But no more than any of the varsity wrestlers I faced, George thought as he pulled his jerkin over his head. Shit, he’s completely naked! Peter had removed the last of his clothes while George had fumbled with his shirt.

One of the dwarven boys began to rub oil onto Peter’s skin. Another tossed a flask to Gary. “You. You are friend. Oil him.”

Oddly unafraid, George took off the rest of his clothes and stood, naked, before the human party and the dwarven boys and men. Gary whispered assurance to Theo, and then began to cover George with the oil. Two dwarven boys drew a chalk ring on the cavern floor. No matter who wins, this is going to hurt, George thought. We’re going to wrestle on bare rock!

Peter was fast and strong, but George was much faster and nearly as strong. Peter’s style was rough and tumble, and lacked cohesion or planning. George had been trained, deliberately and carefully, in competitive wrestling where falls meant points and trophies, and where injuries were to be avoided. Peter’s strength was barely enough to keep them even. After eight matches, the boys were tied at four pins to four. The next fall would decide the victor. One of the dwarves who served as a referee, called a break. George and Peter stepped from the ring. A boy brought water.

Theo whispered to George. “You cannot defeat him. He is the Atheling.”

“What is the Atheling?” George whispered back.

“Prince,” Theo said.

“He’s the king’s son,” Gary whispered. “We heard them talking about it. If he loses, he loses their respect! He may lose his position as prince! You can’t win.”

George’s head swam. I can win. I know it! He called Arthur a liar. He challenged; I didn’t. Well, not really, anyway.

Undecided, George stepped into back into the ring.

*****

Time stopped. George’s mind returned to Bowling Green.

Arthur was at the forge, exploring mithral with Allan and Eddie. They were trying to break the bonds that had been formed when the mithral had been alloyed with copper and tin to make bronze. Their first approach had been to raise slowly the temperature of the bronze, hoping that the different metals would separate when their individual melting points were reached. That hadn’t worked, and now they were buried deeply in diagrams and theory.

Gary and George were in their room, looking for something to do.

“Arthur said you’d have to learn to read,” George said. “Would you like me to show you? I mean, I could read aloud, and you could follow along.”

Gary agreed, and the boys lay on the floor, their heads together over George’s copy of The Book of Heroes. As George read, he pointed to each word.

A hundred lifetimes ago, a soldier of a defeated army took shelter in a barn. He knew his enemies would be looking for him, and so he hid deeply in the straw. Unseen not only by his enemies but also by the animals of the farm, he overheard the animals talking.

“I found this bright stone,” one hen said. “It fell from the ring on the hand of a noble who passed here yesterday. Were he here, he would take it up and return it to its rightful place. I, however, would rather have a single grain of corn.”

The other hens agreed, and the gemstone lay in the dust while the hens scratched in vain for food.

Next to speak was the dog. “I, too, suffer hunger. It is through my own stupidity, however. I had found a piece of meat, and was carrying it home. As I crossed the bridge, I saw in the water below, a dog carrying in his mouth a piece of meat I thought to be bigger than mine. I jumped into the water and snatched the meat from the jaws of the other dog. Alas, the other dog was my own reflection, and I lost the meat, which washed down the stream and out of my reach.”

A fly settled on the horns of the cow, and spoke next. “My brothers found a pot of honey overturned in the farmhouse. There being no people in the house, they lit upon the honey and began to feast. Their stomachs became so full, and their legs became so mired in the honey that they could not fly away. They sank deeper into the honey, and suffocated.”

A raven, who had perched on the rafters, said, “I have lost my mate, who envied the white feathers of the swan. He believed that the swan’s feathers were white because the swan lived on the water and washed its feathers constantly. My mate abandoned our children and me and lived in the lake. He washed and washed, but did not become white. However, because he failed to search for food, he died of hunger.”

The last to speak was an ancient rooster. “In my youth, a cock flew into the farmyard and disputed my rule. We fought, and he won. Immediately after, he flew to the top of the barn to crow his victory. An eagle, looking for dinner, saw him and swooped upon him, carrying him away.”

“Those are silly stories!” Gary said. “What do they mean?”

“I think,” George said, “they mean that sometimes what we think is important isn’t important at all. And, that we should consider the consequences of what we do.”

*****

George’s mind returned to the cavern and to the dwarven boy who faced him.

Is it important what this boy thinks of Arthur? What are the consequences if I defeat him? What are the consequences if he defeats me? Naming something Evil does not make it Evil. Arthur has said that; he believes it. George relaxed and smiled slightly. This is going to hurt!

Less than two minutes later, Peter stood in the ring. His companions’ cheers still reverberated through the cavern. George lay in the ring, holding his right arm. Gary tugged Theo’s hand. “Help me,” he whispered. “I’ve got to help George.”

“Leave us!” Peter ordered, his gaze encompassing both dwarves and humans. “Leave us!”

George caught Gary’s eyes and nodded. Theo held tightly to Gary’s hand as they were led away.

Peter knelt beside George. “I should kill you,” he hissed. “You let me win! I feel you shift weight.”

“You are the only one who thinks so,” George said. “Your friends’ cheers weren’t false.”

Peter glared at George. “Even so. Why? You lost honor. Your master lost honor.”

“No,” George said. “I didn’t. He didn’t. We didn’t. Might does not make Right…Light. Saying someone is a thief does not make him a thief. Saying it over and over again does not make him a thief. Saying it loudly does not make him a thief. I think you broke my arm.”

“Then why?” Peter asked, ignoring George’s complaint.

“Because your friends said if you lost you wouldn’t be prince. You didn’t tell us you were the prince,” George said.

“They exaggerate…is joke…you believe?” Peter asked, his voice suddenly hushed. Then, “Healer!” he called, loudly.

*****

Arthur finished his examination of George’s arm. “It’s a green-stick fracture. The healer did a good job. You’ll be okay in a few days, I think. Does it hurt?”

“No. Well, a little,” George said. “But it’s okay. I’m okay.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Arthur asked. George nodded, and explained what had happened.

“So, you let him win?”

“Yes,” George replied. “Theo and Gary seemed so certain. And, if I’d won, and he’d lost his position, then our mission would be jeopardized. Even though he started it. And I realized it really didn’t matter. I knew you weren’t a thief, and it didn’t matter what these people thought.”

“Actually, it does,” Arthur said. “Actually. But the king knows enough to know the sword wasn’t stolen. In fact, he knows a little too much, but he understands that it’s a secret, and won’t pursue it any farther.”

“Is it okay, then?” George asked.

Arthur hugged the boy awkwardly, avoiding the right arm that was strapped to straight, metal splints. “Yes, George. You did the right thing. Thank you for standing up for me. And thank you for not standing up for me when that was the right thing to do.”

*****

“George,” Peter said that evening, “My father tell me sword belong to Arthur. I tell Arthur I am wrong. I tell my people I am wrong. I tell my people Arthur have honor. I tell my people you have honor. Will you forgive me? Will you share boy magic with me? Arthur tell me okay to ask.”

George thought for a moment. “Why do you want to share boy magic? Because you have wronged me and hurt me? Do you think sex will make it all right?” George used a vulgar word he’d learned from Eddie, and which had shocked James when he’d heard it.

Peter’s face fell. “I sorry,” he said. “I…I like you when you speak Peace Bond. You speak well. I like you even when you say I speak falsely. You speak well. I like you when you tell me might not make Light and words not make thief. You speak very well. I not speak well. I go too fast. Start over.” Peter took a deep breath and spoke slowly, “Will you forgive me?”

George nodded. “You have apologized to Arthur?”

“Yes.”

“He accepted?”

“Yes.”

“Then I forgive you.”

“Thank you,” Peter said. His eyes brightened. “Now you be friend.”

George laughed. “You’re going too fast, again. It’s much too soon to become friends. But I will, if you still Ask, share with you. We’ll have to be careful of my arm…”

*****

The dwarves were quite taken with Theo’s music, and pressed him to play and sing long into the night. Finally, Gary took Theo’s hand and announced, “My friend is exhausted. Perhaps he will play more, tomorrow”

“Thank you, Gary,” Theo said quietly. “I don’t like to say no…”

“Then I’ll ask you before someone else does. Will you share boy magic with me? If you aren’t too tired, that is.”

Theo strummed his lute once, and then with unerring precision stood and kissed Gary. “I am never too tired for you.”

*****

“Where does your food come from?” Gary asked. “And the flax? I saw the mill and the looms.” He asked Hadr, the boy who had become Gary and Theo’s closest companion, and whose name they learned meant “strong.” Hadr was Peter’s little brother. Gary and Theo had decided that he was perhaps as much a chaperone as a friend. They enjoyed his antics, and did not tell him of their suspicions.

“I will show you,” Hadr said, “if father will allow.”

The king allowed, and Hadr led the way along paths that seemed always to lead upward. Arthur had magicked a ring that Gary wore on his left hand. Hadr had cast the same spell on his own ring. “We all know that spell,” he explained when Gary asked. “And other light spells.”

“There’s light ahead,” Gary exclaimed after half an hour. “We’re close to the surface.”

“I thought we might be,” Theo sang to the constant strumming of his lute. “I smell flowers.”

The tunnel’s opening overlooked a mountain meadow filled with flowers, young flax plants, and the green shoots of wheat. Farther away, Gary saw regular rows of trees—an orchard.

“This is our farm,” Hadr said. “The only way to get here from the outside is across steep passes. We patrol the passes, and keep them blocked with boulders. Everyone is afraid to cross because of the landslides.” He giggled. “We make the landslides.”

Elsewhere, Arthur and the king were in close consultation. “Thirty years ago, an earthquake shook our homes and our mines. Several caverns collapsed. Ten of our people were killed.

“Water washes from the cave through which you entered our realm. It does so only during the great spring floods, which, as you said, occur in seven-year cycles. I believe I know the source of the poison you described. There was a slump in a part of the cave we no longer visit. The fallen rock revealed a vein of a mineral we do not know, but which dances much as does my sword.” The king’s eyes narrowed. Arthur understood the allusion to Arthur’s sword, the brother of the one the king wore.

“The dance of the mineral is a Wicked dance; that of the sword is a Good dance. Why they are different, we do not know. Nor do we want to know.” Again, Arthur understood the hidden message. The king was agreeing not to investigate radioactivity. That had been the gist of their conversation the day before—a conversation that lasted long into the night. Arthur had offered to provide a way to protect the dwarves and humans of Albion from the poison if the dwarves would agree never to mine it. He and the king had reached an impasse. Now, apparently, the king was accepting Arthur’s proposal.

“With your help, we will remove the mineral and seal it up in a place where it can do no harm.” The spell will protect them from the radiation, Arthur thought.

That night, Gary sought out Arthur. “Arthur, why don’t you heal Theo?” Gary asked. “Like you did me?”

“There are two reasons, Gary,” Arthur began. “First, your mutation was a single gene—a single piece of your DNA. In fact, it was smaller than that. It was a single part of a single gene. The breaks in Theo’s model are scattered throughout his DNA. I could not find them all, much less repair them. Second, the eye is very much more complicated than the bones and muscles of your legs. I don’t know if I could teach his body to grow eyes. Finally, even if Theo’s life pattern or DNA could be changed, and he were to grow eyes, he still wouldn’t be able to see. Sight is more than the eyes; seeing happens in the brain, as well. A child’s vision develops as his brain develops. Theo’s brain has already developed, with hearing replacing sight. If he had eyes, now, they still wouldn’t see.”

*****

It had taken longer than expected to find the vein of radioactive mineral. Aftershocks from the earthquake three decades ago had collapsed a cavern, and a new route had to be being created. New tunnels were carved from the living rock. The speed with which the dwarves opened the passage bespoke their magic, which none of the humans were allowed to see. The first soldier was sent to Albion with the news that work was progressing; he was not told about the dwarves. “We will wait and see before we reopen relations with Albion,” the king had decided.

George’s arm healed, and was pronounced fit by both Arthur and the dwarven healer. Gary and Theo stayed close; Hadr and the other boys who were invited to share their bed spent the following day with glazed eyes.

George and Peter were constant companions, so George was not surprised when Peter invited him to explore the caverns with him. George was surprised, however, when Peter took him near the place where the miners were working. “Before we go where miners work,” Peter began, “I say something.” He reached into his tunic and removed a dagger. The blade was about eight inches long, and shone in the magelight from George’s staff.

“George, you have honor. You give me honor. You say I am too fast to ask you to be friend. That long ago. Now, I ask again. Will you be friend and take dagger from me?”

Peter saw the confusion in George’s eyes. “I know,” Peter said, “you not stay here. You not stay in Albion. I stay here. This my place. I do not ask you to be best friend. I know that is Arthur. I see how he look at you and how you look at him. I do not ask because I hurt you. Anyway, you not hurt any more. Will you be friend?”

George spoke through the tears that blinded him. “Thank you, Peter. Yes, I will be your friend. I will be your friend even though I will leave and you will stay. I will be your friend as long as destiny allows. If we cannot be together in this lifetime, I will look for you in another. Thank you.” The last was said while George clutched to his chest the dagger which Peter had thrust into his hand.

When George’s tears had dried, with a little help from Peter’s kisses, George took the dagger Arthur had bought for him in Ulan Woods so long ago, and said, “Arthur bought this for me only a day after we met. He said I was too—immature, I guess—too immature to accept it in ritual. He told me that someday I would meet someone and exchange daggers with him. I’m so glad that I met you. Will you take this dagger from me? Oh, and should we swear an oath or something?”

Peter took the dagger George offered, and then smiled. “What you said very better than oath. Now I speak. Thank you, George to be my friend. I will be your friend. I will be your friend even though you will leave and I will stay. I will be your friend as long as destiny allows. If we cannot be together in this lifetime, I will look for you in another. Thank you.”

“Now,” Peter said. “Now we watch miners. You see our magic. Maybe you learn something keep you safe.”

Peter read George’s surprise, again. “I know you are magic user. Very powerful. That I feel in your boy magic. I know you face danger. That I see in Arthur’s magic. I know you care for Gary. That I see in Gary’s magic. You are friend; I do what I can to keep you safe. It is all right. Father knows. Arthur knows.”