The Valley Of The Dwarfs - 5. Chapter 5

“You boys look bushed,” the farmer said as Gunther and Dieter climbed the stile over the wall of the lowest lea. “Why’d you run?”

“It’s dark, elves, and such,” Dieter huffed.

“I’m Franz, Dieter what are you doing here?” the farmer asked. “And, who is this?”

“Gunther,” Gunther said extending his hand. The farmer held back for a moment, then took the hand in his. The grip was firm and strong of a man of the soil. “I’m with a group of recent university graduates who are thinking of investing in this area.”

“Investing? What in heaven’s name for?” Franz asked. “Come, let’s get you inside and fed. Investing you say, there’s nothing worth investing in around here. You’re sure that’s why you’re here?”

“Yes, the leader of our group, Albrecht by name, has done research in this entire region of the Hinterland and decided this valley was most suitable for his plans,” Gunther said, amazed that he still had enough air in his lungs to say that much; and even more amazed his mouth was practically letting out all the secrets.

“And, those plans would be?” Franz asked.

“I’m not at liberty to say,” Gunther said, hoping he wasn’t being too evasive, but knowing he was. “You’d have to ask Albrecht. He keeps things such as this fairly close.”

“Secret plans, huh? Well, I hope he knows what he’s getting into,” Franz said.

Gunther knew it! There were definitely dwarfs about. This just might be the legendary Valley of the Dwarfs often mentioned in Hinterland lore. Could it be possible that Albrecht was so stupid to think he could come in here and set up a schussing resort without approval of the local dwarfs? Or, was there something even more sinister to Albrecht’s plan?

The chalet was more set into the slope that those further down in the valley, so much so that, in the dark, it looked as if the slope ran out onto the roof. The entrance was through a door and stairway to the side of where the animals were kept. The stairs were steep, but opened out into a large, brightly lit, warm room full of chairs of different sizes set around a long table on which sat three children, a boy younger than Dieter and two girls younger than the boy; a woman, who was obviously the farmer’s wife, sat at the far end; a pair of dwarfs, who turned toward them when they entered; and, another being that was very much like a human quite close to Dieter’s age, but fairly transparent, almost ghost-like.

“May I present Dieter, the orphan who I’m certain everyone knows, and Gunther, who is visiting the valley,” Franz said with a flourishing bow.

“Where might you come from Gunther?” one of the dwarfs asked after jumping out of its chair. It stood beside the table, two hands on its hips, in the traditional posture of a dominant dwarf. Gunther assumed this might be the local mine superintendent, since the two of them were dining with humans.

“I am a recent graduate of a university shoreward of Venice, but originally I came from a small, insignificant community of farmers in the north Hinterland called Dreithalen, I’m sure you haven’t heard of it,” Gunther said with a bow of his head, as was proper.

“Dreithalen is recorded in the Great Log of Dwarf Mines as a point of conflict between a group of trolls and two landowners,” the dwarf said. “We mediated the dispute, during the course of which one of the human landowners was cleaved for gross insubordination. Perhaps a distant relative?”

“My great-great-uncle, yes, he was my grandfather’s uncle,” Gunther said with a frown. “From what my grandfather remembered of him, he was a mean and obstinate man who gave little to the natural beings of the area.”

“And, your great-great-grandfather was a man of honor,” the dwarf said with a flourishing bow. “I am Gran and this is my mate, Emerane. We are honored to make your acquaintance. Come, join us for nourishment and refreshment.”

Gunther hoped his sigh wasn’t too noticeable. He knew the dwarf wouldn’t have killed him in the chalet, but Franz would not have saved him from the dwarf’s wrath if he’d been a descendant of his grandfather’s uncle. That side of the family was a bane upon the land to this day and had been forced to flee to the lowlands in the west.

Gunther was given a chair between Emerane and the farmer’s wife, who introduced herself as Berta. Across from him sat the youngest girl, May; next to her sat, June; next to her sat their son, Michael; and, the ghostly being turned out to be their recently deceased son, Mark, a victim of the plague. There was no explanation forthcoming of his presence, but Mark ate, drank, and conversed as if he was really there. Franz sat at the other end of the table and Dieter sat between Franz and Gran on the same side as Gunther. The meal was a pleasant fare of roast chicken, parsnips, and a cooked apple dish with nuts and berries. The children, including Dieter drank watered mead. The adults drank dwarf ale, something Gunther had heard about, but never had the chance to taste. Unfortunately, his first taste was too large of a swallow and he nearly gagged on the potency of the drink.

“Never had dwarf ale?” Gran asked.

“No,” Gunther breathed.

“Nasty stuff for humans who aren’t familiar with it,” Emerane said. “Stay here in the valley long enough and you’ll get used to it. Are you with that group of humans camped down by the village?”

“Ahem!” Gran whispered.

“Excuse me, Gunther, pleasure before business,” Emerane said. Then she went back to eating.

Gunther knew he’d have to tread lightly tonight. If the dwarfs suspected that he was fully part of Albrecht’s plan, he might not make it back down to the camp in the morning. He might not make it to bed that night. He had another swallow, too large again, of dwarf ale. He figured he might as well get wasted if he was going to be cleaved head to groin later on.

* * * * * * *

The little girls were sent to bed before the local liqueur was brought out. It had a heady aroma of spring flowers, autumn rains, and children playing in the summer sun. Gunther sipped his with an unsteady hand caused by two full tankards of dwarf ale. He hoped he was well on his way to total obliviousness as the dwarfs were certainly going to delve into the purpose of his visit to the valley. He didn’t have to wait long at all.

“Getting back to my original question,” Emerane said. “Are you with that group down below the village?”

“Yes,” Gunther said. He certainly couldn’t lie about that, as they probably already knew.

“Have you come to hunt the Ibex?” Gran asked. “We seldom get hunters in this valley as there are few of the beasts around here. You’d probably have better luck two valleys east. I could recommend a number of guides that might be suitable for your group.”

“We haven’t come to hunt Ibex,” Gunther said, realizing he was sobering up. What was in the liqueur? This wasn’t going to go well at all.

“Gunther said something about a secret investment plan one of their members has in this valley,” Franz said with a smile toward Gunther. “He wasn’t forthcoming and suggested if someone wanted to know what it was about they should speak to a man named Albrecht. Is that about the gist of it, Gunther?”

“Yes, that about covers it,” Gunther said. Oh shit, here it comes, he thought. He prayed he wouldn’t shit himself when he was pulled outside to be cleaved.

“Secret plan, huh,” Gran said shaking his head.

“Dwarfs don’t like secrets,” Emerane said.

“No, dwarfs are rather strict about truthfulness,” Mark the ghost boy said. “You’re not familiar with dwarfs and their habits are you?”

“No, we haven’t had dwarfs in our part of the Hinterland for quite a few years,” Gunther said.

“No ores of any substance,” Gran said. “The trolls pretty much take care of the quarries, except for those that have been taken over by humans.”

“Yes, and a lot of the other beings have gone, too,” Gunther said sadly. “Civilization, I guess.”

“Yes, too many people and our lot disappear,” Emerane said. “Though, I do know you have nymphs and fairies. Sometimes I think they’re worse than swarms of bugs. They can be such pesky creatures; well, those that aren’t familiar with dwarfs, that is.”

“So, what’s the secret?” Gran asked staring straight into Gunther’s eyes.

“You’re not going to like this, but I guess I don’t have much choice in the matter,” Gunther said. Maybe, just maybe they’d be lenient, just a little, if he told them outright, but dwarfs weren’t known for being lenient. “Albrecht, who for some reason seems to know quite a bit about this valley—I’m not certain he knows anything about dwarfs being here—wants to build a hotel on the farm property across from the village, which I believe two of my compatriots purchased today. The hotel will cater to guests from outside the region who will come here in winter to schuss on the snow slopes. Albrecht plans to install a number of what are called rope tows that will pull the guests up to the top of the slopes.”

“Tourists!” Gran spat. “Who is this Albrecht? Is he the big one? The one who has the eunuch?”

“Yes, that’s him,” Gunther said. Well, so far, so good, at least I’m still alive.

“We want the eunuch,” Emerane said. “He is an abomination to us and must be cured. We will take him tonight.”

“What will you do to him?” Gunther asked knowing full well it was considered very impolite to ask a dwarf a question like that.

“There is a great sorcerer in Hymballia now,” Emerane said. “He will restore the boy to his natural form.”

“He can do that?” Gunther asked digging himself deeper into the grave.

Everyone, including Dieter, stared at him. He looked everywhere except into anyone’s eyes.

“I apologize, but I’ve never heard of such a thing happening,” Gunther said. “Look, I’m sorry. I know I’ve been impertinent and impolite, but I’ve only read about dwarfs in books. I’ve never actually met one, much less talk to one. As I said, we don’t have any natural beings around where I grew up, so I’m unfamiliar with your customs. I did meet a satyr once, though. Pleasant chap, we talked for the longest time. It was as if I’d known him all my life. Oh, sorry, I’m rambling.”

“The name of your satyr and where did you meet him?” Emerane asked with a frown. Gran stared a hole through him.

“Aphrodisios,” Gunther whispered as if the name was holy. “It was in a garden at the university. Why he was there I have no idea, but he seemed genuinely interested in me. Like I said, he was nice, very nice. Oh, sorry, I’m rambling, again. He had that effect on me.”

“Ah, Aphrodisios, I know him well,” Emerane said. “Gran doesn’t like him, but that’s because he’s too often unattached. Is he with you, now?”

“Haven’t seen him in years,” Gunther said. At exactly that moment, it was as if the world hiccupped. The satyr—which was about as tall as a full grown man, had the feet and legs of a goat, pointed ears, nearly black spiraled horns on its head, and was covered almost fully by dense brown hair; the head, arms and torso were that of a man—stood beside Gunther’s chair.

“Greetings old friend,” Aphrodisios said. “Having a bit of a dwarf problem?”

“If you hadn’t shown up, I’m afraid Gran might’ve taken him outside and cleaved him head to groin,” Emerane said.

“Nasty, nasty, shame on you Gran, this is a nice likeable chap, a little naïve, but young people tend to be that way,” Aphrodisios said.

“They’re planning on turning this whole valley into a tourist resort,” Gran said. “If he wasn’t from Dreithalen I’d have him out there right now, split in two.”

“Now, now, don’t get yourself in an uproar,” Aphrodisios said. “This is the Valley of the Dwarfs. If need be we’ll fold it in on itself and it’ll disappear forever.”

“And, kill the lot of us,” Franz said.

“Well, there is that possibility, of course,” Aphrodisios said. “So, let’s sleep on it and see what we can come up with tomorrow. Sound like a plan?”

“But, who is this Albrecht? Where does he come from?” Gran asked.

“He told me he’s from Northern Hinterland between the two great rivers of the north, up near where the Vikings raid,” Gunther said. “He says they do schussing up there, but there aren’t any mountains, just high hills. I guess that’s where he got the plan. From what he’s told me over the years, I guess his family is involved in the traveling merchant business.”

“Traveling merchants brought the plague into this valley,” Mark said. “It’s what killed me and all of Dieter’s family. Do you think he could be related to those scoundrels?”

“I suppose it’s possible, but did any of the merchants die?” Gunther asked.

“No, just quite a few of the residents of the valley,” Franz said. “Mostly children and old people, but there were, also, some adults like Dieter’s parents.”

“How is that possible, at least one or two of the merchants should’ve been at least slightly ill,” Gunther said.

“I guess, magic or poison would do it, wait a minute, there was one of their lot who was selling something he called gourmet food, whatever that was,” Dieter said. “Mam cooked some of it up, but I wouldn’t eat it as it smelled funny. Do you suppose that poisoned them?”

“But, I didn’t eat any of that gourmet stuff,” Mark said. “No, wait, I was down in the village with Pap to see what the merchants were selling and one offered me some kind of fruit. He said it was a peach. About two days later I got really sick and was dead within the week.”

“Okay, look, I’ll ask around, we have our own means of discovering bits of information such as this,” Aphrodisios said. “But, I suggest we get to bed and come together tomorrow to formulate our plan.”

“Yes, Aphrodisios, whatever you say, always let a satyr run the show,” Gran mumbled. “Come dear, let’s get back to the mine.”

With that, the party quickly broke up and everyone headed off toward their beds. Dieter ended up sleeping with Mark and Michael, while Gunther ended up on a guest pallet with his satyr, who was there and not there at the same time, which is the way with satyrs.

* * * * * * *

Down in the camp, Carlo, Paolo and Ernesto were doing their best to devour a number of chickens cook had well seasoned and roasted to perfection. There were some vegetables, as cook always insisted the boys eat a balanced diet, but boys will be boys and the vegetables probably would end up in front of the asses and horses.

Whether they were troubled by Gunther and Albrecht’s absence, none spoke. Barely a word passed between anyone in camp as if they suspected a change, but couldn’t quite put a name to it.

Since neither Paolo nor Ernesto was from the Hinterland, they weren’t privy to the chatter of various nymphs and fairies around them. To Carlo though, the din was almost unbearable. Not familiar with the local dialect, he couldn’t get enough words and phrases in sequence to actually picture in his mind what was being said. For all he knew, it could’ve been a dispute over which of them was going to keep watch on the camp or whether they were going to watch at all. Maybe it was about the asses, which weren’t being abused, but nymphs preferred a free ass to an ass tethered or hobbled. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t stopping.

When he put down his food and stood up the jabbering stopped, but after a moment, it started up again at a lower intensity. They were watching him. Was it because they knew he could hear? They might be mythical creatures, but that wasn’t a reason for them to be unintelligent. Mostly, though, they were an obstinate lot with one-track minds, well, tiny one-track minds.

With a big sigh, he looked around as if trying to discover the strongest source of their chattering. However, it seemed all around them, even down toward the creek, where there was definitely a different breed. Water nymphs were not the same as woodland nymphs, just as household nymphs were not the same as garden nymphs. Each had its purpose as each had its own territory.

Maybe it was time for a stroll up to see how the animals were getting on. The drovers looked up at him for only a moment before returning to their own meal of cooked sausage, cheese, and more vegetables that would eventually end up as Equus food. Why did cook bother?

He reached the first man-at-arms leaning on his pike, looking totally disinterested in protecting them from whatever might be out there in the dark. Little did the man know that a werewolf was quieter than a mouse; and, it only took one slobbery bite from the beast if it was on a recruitment patrol. If it wasn’t recruiting, though, most of the strength of the beast was in the charge, which most assuredly knocked you down so the beast could come up and tear open your throat; or, that’s what he’d been told. This was a man-at-arms with chainmail from shoulders to the tops of his boots; maybe a different sort of attack was in order.

At the picket line, the horses and asses were loosely tethered and guarded by two men-at-arms. Carlo stopped and listened. There were nymphs up here, but not in the same concentration as down at camp. He returned around and headed back down the hill.

Albrecht was sitting on one of the campstools eating when Carlo arrived at the fire. Their eyes met for a moment and then Carlo sat down next to Paolo.

“Paolo was telling me your mission to the farm was a success,” Albrecht said. “When can we move in?”

“In a week,” Carlo said. “That seemed reasonable to us.”

“You should’ve made him get out sooner,” Albrecht said. “The two of you are too soft. I suspect you gave him extra gold, too. Oh, speaking of gold, someone’s been into the money chest without my knowledge. I don’t know who is responsible, but whoever it is probably knows it won’t go easy for them. Anyone seen Omar?”

“No, but here’s the lease agreement for the farm,” Paolo said as he handed the vellum to Albrecht.

“Lease? The farmer didn’t own the property free and clear?” Albrecht asked with anger in his eyes. He looked over the paper and it was obvious he didn’t have a clue about dwarf runes. “Can either of you tell what this is?”

“It’s a dwarf lease,” Carlo said.

“Dwarves don’t exist,” Albrecht said. “They’re mythical creatures. Figments of children’s imaginations.

“The proper plural, at least as far as they’re concerned, is dwarfs,” Carlo said. “And, yes, there are dwarfs in the mountains around this valley.”

“That’s a crock and this document is worthless,” Albrecht said as he stood up. “We’re moving in tomorrow, whether the farmer likes it or not.”

* * * * * * *

Omar’s fearful eyes darted around the cave-like room he suddenly, unexpectedly found himself. He’d been returning from the village with a bundle of sausages for cook and as he was crossing the bridge over the stream he felt as if the world around him wavered as light appears over desert plain. Before he could react, he was here in this chamber. That was quite a while ago.

The room was furnished with ample carpets over a smooth stone floor, a pallet to one side with quilts and pillows, a chamber pot in one corner, two candles in sconces by the wooden door, the only exit, and it was locked. A small brazier provided heat and a plate of sausage and cheese provided nourishment. A tankard had a foul tasting fluid similar to, but much stronger than ale. He decided to remain thirsty and ate little.

After what seemed a full passage of a clock, a very short man entered the room. Other than the full beard and green hair, Omar noticed little.

“You haven’t touched your ale,” the little man said. “I’ll get you water. Don’t fear, all will be explained in time.”

Omar didn’t attempt to speak or to indicate he couldn’t. He simply stared at the little man as he went out the door. He heard the bolt close and the key securing the lock.

After a short while, a different little man came in and sat on the pallet. He patted his hand on a place next to him. Omar wasn’t certain what was going on. Did this little man want to mate with him, as had all men he’d encountered over the years since that dreadful day?

“Come, sit, don’t be afraid,” the little man said. “I am called Dern. I will be your guide to Gregor the Sorcerer. It is a long journey, but we won’t start until the morning. Come, sit, please.”

Omar went over and sat down, still afraid he was to perform some sort of sex act with this little person, who turned out to be just as short when he sat down.

“What is your name?” Dern asked.

Omar shook his head and pointed to his mouth.

“Please, let me see,” Dern said. “Oh, my, they also cut out your tongue. You’re not Moorish; you’re from further to the east, from beyond the two great rivers, the land of the wanderers.”

Omar nodded and looked at his feet. A single tear dribbled out of his right eye.

“Oh dear, oh dear, this changes everything, this definitely changes everything,” Dern said. “We must send a golden eagle to summon the sorcerer. Do you wish to return to your place of birth?”

Omar vigorously shook his head.

“They’re all dead?” Dern asked.

Omar nodded.

“We’ll have to figure out something,” Dern said. “I need to ask this, just for the record, but were you a kept boy? And, if you are, are you wise in the pleasurable needs of your human owner?”

Omar nodded, paused and nodded again.

“I see,” Dern said as he stood up. “You will not be bothered with that here. And, the door is locked not to keep you in, but to keep some of our kind out. You see, you are an abomination to our beliefs. There may be some here who might do you harm. The sorcerer should be here tomorrow.”

After the little man left, Omar lay down on the pallet and pulled a quilt over him. What was the sorcerer to do with him? He wished he could ask; and, why did the little man ask if he wanted to go back to the desert? He couldn’t understand, so he simply curled up into his usual fetal position and drifted off to sleep.