The Valley Of The Dwarfs - 7. Chapter 7

As Carlo sucked his cock, portly Paolo sprawled on his back looking up into colorful material of their pavilion as it was splashed with dawn’s light. They were leaving today, Carlo said last night, while they still had blood in their veins, air filled their lungs, and heads resting atop their necks. All of the money he convinced his father to invest in the project was being thrown to the winds of the mountains, but Carlo was adamant, they had to leave today, preferably when Albrecht wasn’t around to see them do it.

“We’ll take just one ass,” Carlo said, “since we don’t have a lot to carry. We’ll have to rough it until we get to Genevra, but even then we’ll have to keep our wits about us or we’ll be done in by bandits.”

“If we’re going to die, why can’t we do it here?” Paolo moaned. “Cook makes the most delicious muffins. I’ve been trying to bribe her into giving me the recipe, but she refuses.”

“We’re leaving, that’s final,” Carlo said.

Last night they went to sleep with Paolo still uncertain about whether he wanted to leave. He still couldn’t see any reason. Well, yes, Albrecht was being a bully, but that was just how Albrecht was. They were his partners. What would he do if they snuck out taking an ass in the process? Those were Albrecht’s asses, bought with his own money, or so he said. Maybe that was a ruse to keep them with him. Was that it?

Carlo was getting him close, but he still wanted to logically think this through. Carlo said he couldn’t go home and Paolo knew his father would put him into the priesthood if he so much as put one foot in Rome without sufficient return on the investment; so, where were they to go? Carlo said he had relatives among the Catalonians and said the weather was warm. He suggested pooling their resources and either buying an established inn or opening one on their own.

Well, certainly, sun baked beaches sounded better than trudging through waist deep snow to get to the little house.

Oh! Carlo hit the spot. Oh, heavenly Father! He was sinning, they were sinning, but oh! Carlo knew just how to start a man’s day.

“How is my love?” Carlo asked coming up out of the quilts and kissing Paolo.

“Troubled,” Paolo said.

“Earlier when I went out for a piss, Albrecht was assembling his entourage to evict the farmer,” Carlo said. “We must be up and away within the hour. Come on, put yourself together, I’ll get an ass and meet you outside.”

“What of the drovers and remaining men-at-arms?” Paolo asked.

“I’ve taken care of everything, get ready!” Carlo complained. With that he was out and away.

Paolo huffed and sat up. He definitely had to work on his weight. Maybe when they reached Barchelona he’d take up running, again. He was quite the jogger before he went off to university and fell under the demands of the Brothers and the wonderful cooks. Why was it there were always a few Brothers who’d pay anything, such as a passing grade, just to bed a plump boy? Whatever the reason, his ass did its job in getting him a degree and finding Carlo who was far better than any old Brother with a dank, unwashed cock hidden under too many layers of cloth.

Three bags, no four, but Carlo would make him toss one before they were out of the valley. One to carry on his back, one to put on the ass, and two to leave behind, that meant frills and foofaraw stayed in here, utility and practicality went with them. The lightest bag became even lighter and the bag for the ass had hardly anything in it. Okay, add a piece of frills to each bag until he had the right amount of weight.

“Are you ready yet?” Carlo hissed at the door. “We have to leave now!”

Paolo picked up his two bags and walked out. The ass looked overloaded already, but he gave the heaviest bag to Carlo and hefted the other onto his back.

“You’re not carrying that, are you?” Carlo asked. “We have an ass!”

“I don’t want to overburden it,” Paolo said. “Besides, a little extra weight will burn off more fat.”

“Give me the bag,” Carlo hissed, “you can diet in Barchelona.”

Paolo looked about the camp, but everyone else was trying everything they could not to look at them, which was a very safe maneuver when Albrecht confronted them. “I didn’t see them leave,” would be an honest answer. Ignoring them, Paolo went over to cook and was presented with a bag of muffins.

“I put in some of your favorites,” she said, “and a couple new ones from a recipe I picked up in the village. They call them dwarf muffins. Isn’t that a kick? They said to eat them warm, as they stiffen up rather quickly.”

“Thanks,” Paolo said taking the bag. “Take care.”

“I’ll tell them you was heading for Lucerna,” cook said. “Hopefully, that’ll throw them off your track. Now, be away!”

Paolo kissed her hairy cheek and hurried to catch up to Carlo and his ass, already entering the woods below camp.

* * * * * * *

Gunther stood at the drawbridge of a forbidding castle. The crenellated walls seemed to reach for the heaven and no one seemed to be at home. Was entry another test, he wondered?

“State yer purpose!” they were hailed from somewhere above.

“To see the King,” Aphrodisios said.

“And, why?” the voice yelled back.

“Because he’s got his pisser stuck in a keyhole again,” Aphrodisios called back.

“Righty-o!”

And the bridge began its loud, creaking descent.

“Interesting password,” Gunther said.

“He’s a bear of a man, but his dick is miniscule,” Aphrodisios said. “Luckily, he’s found his niche in the world.”

“Are we in the world?” Gunther asked. “This is all very strange.”

“We’re in whatever world you desire, my dear Gunther,” Aphrodisios said vaguely.

The bridge thudded onto the stone abutment and Gunther started across. The satyr wasn’t at his side.

“What? Another test?” Gunther asked looking back where the satyr stood.

“Wait for it,” Aphrodisios said.

“Who’s it to be, one or the other, not both,” the voice called out.

“What do I ask for?” Gunther asked.

“You’re the Hero, ask for what you want,” Aphrodisios said.

Gunther sighed and turned back to the castle. He felt as if he was sweating rivers as he walked through the gatehouse. The arrow slits stared menacingly along the walls, while overhead he was certain he could hear the sound of boiling oil. The interior portcullis remained down until the exterior was lowered.

After what seemed forever the portcullis was raised allowing Gunther access to the bailey. He looked around until he located the door to the keep. He walked toward it and just as he was about halfway between the gatehouse and the keep, a huge black bear came bounding out of the keep’s door. It ran straight toward him, veering off at the last moment, circling around, and coming up behind him where it shoved its wet, black nose against his behind. Then it began to walk around sniffling and snuffling at Gunther’s clothes and exposed skin. Was this the king?

The bear sat down in front of Gunther and stared up into his eyes.

“Want to be a Hero, do you?” it asked.

“Yes, very much so,” Gunther said.

“I doubt that,” the bear said. “No one wants to be a Hero, they’re just thrust into it and either perform heroically or die. Are you willing to die?”

“Not if I can help it,” Gunther said.

“Wise choice,” the bear said. “So, what can I do for you?”

“I need a good sword and armor, I suppose,” Gunther said.

“What are you willing to give for it?” the bear asked.

“Sorry? What do you mean?” Gunther asked, puzzled as he had few coins and figured the bear didn’t want money. It had to be something else. “You mean like eternal damnation?”

“No, no, not that,” the bear said. “I’m not Old Smokey. I’m King of the Heroes and look at me; I’m a bear for chrissakes! Willing to become a pig for all eternity?”

“No!” Gunther exclaimed.

“Why?”

“Because bears probably eat pigs.”

“Right you are and delicious they are, too.”

“I will give my life to the dwarfs for whatever they desire, for whatever purpose they request,” Gunther said.

“Now, that’s a good one,” the bear said. “You hear that, Aphrodisios? He’s willing to become a slave to the dwarfs, for all eternity, as dwarfs live a very long time.”

“I said he was a likeable chap,” Aphrodisios said, suddenly appearing beside Gunther. “I see you and the King are getting on quite well. Count yourself lucky you thought of something difficult or he’d have had your pants at your ankles and you on your hands and knees.”

“Fucking me,” Gunther said.

“Right you are!” the King exclaimed.

“So, do you have a sword I can use?” Gunther asked. “And, some armor?”

“You don’t need armor if you have a good sword,” the King said. “Right, Aphrodisios?”

“That would be my assessment,” the satyr said.

“Come with me,” the King said turning toward the keep.

Gunther walked behind and looked back at the satyr, who shrugged. Another test, Gunther surmised.

Inside the door there was a stairway leading upward and an archway leading into a large room lit by candles circling the space. The walls were covered with the hilts of swords of every variety. Gunther turned and turned, but couldn’t count the number of hilts stuck into the stone walls around him.

“Pick one,” the King said. “If it is yours, it will slide from the stone. The choice is yours, but if you do not choose correctly the first time, you may not get another chance. If you are given a second, third, or even a fourth chance, eventually your sword may not be yours, but the unchosen sword of another hapless Hero who chose incorrectly, also. His sword may not meet your need. Chose your destiny.”

The bear ambled out of the room.

Gunther looked around him. So many swords, so many choices, some were obviously meant for larger men that he, while some a child could wield. There seemed to be no pattern, no discernable clue to the correct first choice. He began to walk toward the walls in a circular path scanning the hilts, looking for the one that was calling him. There had to be something, some indication of familiarity, some call to the fight he and the sword faced.

Gunther stopped and stared at two broad swords about halfway up the wall. One had a golden pommel, the other silver, or was it polished steel? Gold seemed too flashy, but was it the right choice, anyway? He walked up to them. The utilitarian polished steel seemed to attract his attention.

He breathed in and loudly exhaled. This was his first choice. He shut his eyes, thanked God, and placed his right hand upon the shagreen covered grip. He tightened his fingers around it and pulled.

There wasn’t a chorus of Gregorian monks, there wasn’t an orchestra of fairies, there was only the crisp sound of steel against stone as the blade slid out to him. Gunther waved the sword about him, swung it around as he turned, parried with an unseen assailant, and thrust forward into the imagined belly of Albrecht.

The air about him quavered and his eyes seemed to blink on their own as he was transported back to the Valley of the Dwarfs. He was standing with his sword among what looked to be over a hundred fully armed dwarfs. The sun sparkled along the blade of their axes filling the valley with a shimmering display of dwarfish determination.

“Is it a good sword?” Gran asked.

“It is my first choice,” Gunther said.

“Then we just might be saved,” Gran said. “You know who we must capture. He is not to be killed. The men-at-arms are your greatest concern. Many of them will spill their blood on the edge of your sword. We are off!”

And, the dwarf army set off toward their quarry, their Hero leading the way.

* * * * * * *

Albrecht saw the glint of sunlight flashing on the dwarf axes as they came down from the higher valley, but he had no idea what it was. He was growing impatient though as the sun worked its way to the zenith. It was getting hot and he was getting even hotter.

“Albrecht! We might be in for some trouble,” the sergeant called out from the window above.

“Why is that?” Albrecht asked.

“That rabble coming down the mountain looks like a dwarf army,” the sergeant said. “I think they may have gotten a Hero to lead them.”

“Sergeant, go back to work, dwarfs are mythical beings, they don’t exist,” Albrecht said. “It’s all in your imagination.”

“We didn’t hire onto to this little project of yours to get cleaved by an army of dwarfs,” the sergeant said.

“Then leave, go, runaway, desert, if you’re bothered by your imagination,” Albrecht said.

He seethed with anger, now. They were all against him, the town, Paolo and Carlo, Omar, Gunther, probably Ernesto, and now the men-at-arms. So be it! That only meant there was more money for him. This had been his idea to begin with. Well, his father’s and uncle’s, since they were in the merchant train that visited earlier and spread poisoned food around the town. Unfortunately, not enough of the populace died, not enough of the men of the constabulary, not enough of the men aiming the crossbows at him right now.

“Come on men, we have to get back to camp before they’re upon us,” the sergeant said as he led his men out of the chalet and down to where Albrecht stood. “I’m sorry sir, but I’ve seen what can happen to a man on the wrong end of a dwarf axe. We have no desire to have our blood spilt today.”

“I said go!” Albrecht exclaimed. “Go damn you!”

The sergeant and his men-at-arms ran toward the camp. They were going to pack up their belongings and beat a hasty retreat out of the valley entirely. Had they known this was a dwarf-controlled valley, they wouldn’t have hired on to begin with.

“Dirty bastards!” Albrecht screamed at no one in particular. Then he turned toward where he’d seen the sparkling lights, but they were gone. “A figment of their imaginations. Dwarfs, my ass!”

And, then, two streams of them ran toward him, one from the village and across the little bridge and the other down the farm side of the stream. He looked at them and was amazed at their diminutive stature. They all had steel helms with plumes of different colors, full beards, chainmail tunics and leggings, heavy black boots, and green hair. Each and every one of them carried a battle-axe with a stout wooden handle and a blade nearly as long as the forearm of a man and half again as wide.

He looked at what he supposed was their leader.

“Gunther, you do not play a warrior well,” Albrecht said. “Where’d you get the sword?”

“It was given honestly,” Gunther said. “Will you surrender peaceably or must we take you otherwise.”

“Surrender to what? A bunch of little men! You’ve got to be kidding.”

Unfortunately, dwarfs do not like being compared to little men. They knew what little men looked like and they didn’t look like dwarfs. They approached Albrecht warily, fully aware of his sheathed sword.

“Gran! We need rope and bindings,” Gunther called out. “Hold your anger at bay. Remember he is to be taken alive. His punishment is not to have his blood spilled upon this verdant sward.”

Gunther walked up to his former partner and smiled. Albrecht stared back in anger.

“Bare you weapon old friend,” Gunther said. “You want to make a fight of it? Then let’s see what your sword can do against mine.”

“You fool!” Albrecht said unsheathing his sword. “It’s going to be a pleasure pruning your worthless head from your disgusting body.”

Albrecht stepped forward quickly and swept his sword toward Gunther who parried, turned full circle, and brought the flat of his sword down and across Albrecht’s right knee with a loud crack as steel shattered bone. Gunther stepped back as Albrecht’s anger kept him somewhat steady and nearly unaware of the pain coursing up from his leg.

Albrecht lurched forward swinging his sword in toward his weakened right leg and was knocked off balance when the leg couldn’t support the applied momentum. Gunther slipped past and brought the flat of his sword across Albrecht’s buttocks with a powerful blow.

Albrecht sprawled onto the ground and was immediately overwhelmed by a dozen dwarfs with leather bindings and rope to hogtie him feet to hands behind his back.

“What are they doing, Gunther? Undo me!” Albrecht screamed.

A dwarf pulled up a clump of turf and stuffed it into Albrecht’s mouth. A stout pole appeared from somewhere and the dwarfs secured their victim’s body for transport to the place of his death.

“That was an interesting feat of swordsmanship,” Gran said. “Where did you learn that?”

“I didn’t,” Gunther said. “I just let the sword do the job and tried not to get in its way.”

“We are indebted to you,” Gran said.

“No, I am indebted to you,” Gunther said. “The cost of the sword to the King of Heroes was my promise to serve the dwarfs for any purpose for the rest of my life.”

“Then we have a conundrum of crossed indebtedness,” Gran said. “Unfortunately, they do not cancel each other. We will have to ask the sorcerer for a solution.”

“As you wish,” Gunter said. “But, however it turns out I wish to remain here in this valley in any capacity deemed appropriate.”

“Then we have a solution, Hero Gunther,” Gran said. “I bid you welcome to your home for the time of your life. We will build you a chalet across the valley from Franz and when the eunuch is cured, if he desires, he may reside with you. I’m sure you know about farming.”

“Yes, I was raised on a farm, though we were more into grain than animals, but I can adapt. May I ask a question?”

“Yes, please, however may I help you?”

“This morning there were dwarf muffins. When I was a child my mother, or someone in our household, prepared dwarf muffins.”

“I told you last night Dreithalen is written in the Great Log of Dwarf Mines. Your family is our family. Gunther of Dreithalen, like it or not, you are one of us.”

* * * * * * *

Epilogue

Omar sat on his pallet looking at the two men on the other side of the chamber. One was Albrecht’s friend Gunther. The other was called Gregor the Sorcerer; except, he didn’t appear to Omar to be anything like he imagined a sorcerer looked like. He was too young.

“I had expected someone a little more pathetic,” the sorcerer said. “The way the golden eagle was talking; this boy was in a horrible way and needed curing of a strange disease. I’ve heard of eunuchs, but to have one’s tongue cut out, that’s despicable.”

“The dwarfs said you can put him back to the way he was,” Gunther said. “Would that give him a new tongue and new testicles? But what about his age? I have no idea how old he is. I assume one ages at the same rate whether they’re castrated or not. What do you think?”

“Yes, size wise, he’s probably where he should be,” the sorcerer said. “And, yes, putting him back means restoring him to his original physical condition, but as a result, since I’m rather new at this, he may end up a little boy, if he was a little boy when he was castrated. You have to realize I’ve only been a fully-fledged sorcerer for about a year. Could you leave us?”

“Sure, I guess,” Gunther said. He stood up as much as he could with the low dwarf excavated ceiling, went to Omar and knelt. “The dwarfs are building me a chalet here in the valley. When you are restored, you can live with me, if you want. You are free of Albrecht and I promise I won’t ever be like him.”

Omar smiled and wondered if he’d be required to sleep with Gunther as he had with Albrecht. The dwarfs had taken him to see Albrecht in the pit and told him his former tormented was to die there. Yet, he didn’t quite trust Gunther, as he didn’t quite trust the sorcerer, as he didn’t quite trust any foreigner.

“It’ll be okay, Omar,” Gunther said just before he closed the door.

“Psimilia, old friend, I think I need a little assistance here,” Gregor said from where he still sat across from Omar.

A cloud of mist appeared and when it dissipated, Omar saw a very old man. The young sorcerer must have summoned his master.

“I’d say you have a bit of a problem here,” Psimilia said. “How’re the kids? Have you found a school for the girls? How is Ben? Have you met his mentor? And, Timothy and Edwina, how are they?”

“The girls are fine, but no we haven’t decided where they’ll go to school. It’s an argument right now. Ben is much the same. He gets better gradually. I don’t know anything about a mentor. Is this something you did? Timothy and Edwina are fine, except when we talk about where the girls will go to school.”

“Ben’s mentor comes from us,” Psimilia said. “I suppose when it is time, his presence in Ben’s life will become apparent.”

“Sounds very magical to me,” Gregor chuckled.

“Comes with the job, comes with the job,” Psimilia said. “Now, have you thought about what to do with the task at hand?”

“Yes, my first thought was that it was beyond me and I should call you,” Gregor said.

“Well done, you’re learning,” Psimilia said as stood and went to Omar. “I wish I or one of my followers had come across you at a much younger age, but that is in the past and we can’t go there.

“Basically this is a physical restorative spell somewhat similar to the spell you cast changing the dragon into the man, but with truly permanent results. We don’t want the boy to lose his tongue in an argument or not be able to perform when in the bed with a scrumptious wench or wife or young man, if that is his desire. We want him cured.

“Then there is the matter of his age. He is older than you think, but not as old as he appears. A lot of horrible events have passed through this poor boy’s life and I think it would be best to take him right back to the beginning physically, while allowing him to keep his memories. That way, hopefully, he will grow into a fine young man under whoever’s care he ends up with. You might consider taking him, too. That other fellow, though, has darkness about him concerning this boy.

“Ready to begin?”

“Yes,” Gregor said.

“Then come here and kneel before the boy,” Psimilia said. “It doesn’t matter how he is arraigned. Sitting, standing, lying down, standing on his head, will all work. Sometimes for showman’s sake, it helps to have them standing on their head when restoring an amputated limb. People tend to applaud when that happens. They think standing on your head is the important part. Anyway, take his hands in yours. Now, wait while I enter your mind and body.”

Gregor continued to kneel looking into Omar’s dark, ebony eyes. The beardless skin of the boy’s face was so enticing as to nearly cause an arousal he didn’t want at the moment. Then he felt a shiver and felt Psimilia looking through his eyes. The spell rang out in his mind and he directed it into Omar’s body. It was quite a long spell and seemed to go on and on. He wondered if he could remember all of it. Then realized he was remembering it. So far, this was the spell that ran through his mind when Percy was changed from a dragon into a man.

He glanced around the room and was happy there was no lightning. Yes, that was just for show, to put a sparkle in the mortals’ eyes. Today, now, it was between him and this boy, whose name was actually Saeed.

As the spell ran on from Psimilia, through his memory, down his arms to his hands, and across to the boy, Gregor saw the Arabian raiders coming into Saeed’s camp. He saw the boy’s father lose his head with the swish of a sword. He saw, with the horror of a young boy’s eyes, another sword slash across his mother’s breast where a baby suckled, killing both. He felt a massive hand pull him up onto the horse; and later he felt the brute’s engorged member raping him.

He was in a market, now. A man was poking and prodding him, checking his teeth, opening his clothes to bare his bottom and have his widdler pulled until it stiffened. He heard the men laugh at him.

He was in a room somewhere in a building so big one could spend days wandering the halls and passageways and never see the outside. There was an old man with a knife staring at his naked body. He was splayed out on a table, securely tied to it. The old man dribbled a syrupy substance into his mouth and the world went away, yet he was still in the room watching what was happening to him. He tried to scream as the knife sliced his skin down there and two little knots of flesh were pulled from his body. He screamed again as hot pitch was applied to his wound, a wound that healed in time in that room.

Then another man came to him and forced his mouth open. He tried to stop it from happening, but he had no control over his muscles. The man released him and his mouth stayed open. He saw the old man coming to him with a different knife, a knife with a curve at the end. The other man pinched his tongue between brass tongs and pulled it out. He watched in horror as the knife went into his mouth and the bloody end of his tongue was pulled completely out of his mouth. He screamed as his mouth filled with the taste of blood and then everything went dark.

Gregor looked into Saeed’s eyes and saw the tears of a life giving pleasure to men of all sorts, of standing naked in slave markets while potential owners poked and prodded his bottom testing his firmness, of traveling miles upon miles until one day being put on a sailing ship and crossing a water of unimaginable breadth. When the boat finally came to port, there was another slave market, and there was Albrecht who wasn’t so bad in the beginning. He learned the language. He was allowed out of the house to go on errands. But every night, he slept in Albrecht’s bed and had to give pleasure to the man in ways he never thought one man could do to another.

Saeed opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue. He licked his lips. Then he tried to speak, but it wasn’t much more than a slurred mumble, a jumble of sounds.

“Give it time, you’ll learn to speak again,” Gregor said.

Saeed stood up and pulled down his leggings. His hand cupped his scrotum as fingers searched for the small, immature testicles hidden in his flesh. He smiled when he felt what had been taken from him so long ago.

Gregor could see the youth in the boy, maybe nine years old he thought; much younger, smaller, and shorter than he’d been at the beginning. Surprisingly, the boy’s clothes shrunk with him. He’d have to as Psimilia about that part of the spell. He stood and went to the door. Opening it, he said, “You can come in now.”

“How is Omar?” Gunther asked hurrying into the chamber and knocking his head on the low ceiling. “Ow! Why can’t I remember to duck in these tunnels? Oh, sorry, how is Omar?”

“Actually his name is Saeed,” Gregor said as he felt Psimilia pass out of him and go back to the misty plain. “As you can see, he’s much younger, too.”

“Yes, a little darling isn’t he,” Gunther said as he knelt before the boy.

“I saw into his past, I saw all the men he has served,” Gregor said. “You are forbidden to do anything to him until he is of age and asks you to share in his pleasure. I’m serious about this. I have contacts throughout the Hinterland, especially the nymphs who will be watching the boy closely. If I ever hear of you abusing this boy, you will wish you had never been born.”

“Yes, sir,” Gunther said. “Uh, Omar, I mean Saeed, yes, Saeed, I’ll have to remember that, won’t I? Would you like to come with me? There is a family you can live with until my chalet is built. They have a boy not much older than you. When my chalet is ready, you can decide if you want to live with me. I would very much like it if you did, but the choice is yours.”

Saeed mumbled and jumbled some words in his mouth and hugged Gunther.

* * * * * * *

Meanwhile, or rather on the previous morning, Ernesto came out of his pavilion to find a deserted camp. Everyone was gone. All the animals were gone. He looked and searched all around the camp, but found no one. He walked up toward the farmer’s chalet, but saw all the little people wielding battle-axes and made a hasty retreat back to camp where, now, three large wolves were snuffling around. They looked up and one, the biggest and blackest, stared right into his eyes. He felt himself being pulled toward them. He couldn’t resist. He took a step, then another and another. The wolf stood still staring directly into Ernesto’s eyes. They felt as if they were going to be pulled out of their sockets and he took another step and another and another. The wolf bolted toward him and slammed into his chest, knocking him back onto the ground. Ernesto felt the fangs envelop his throat. The wolf’s eyes, though not looking directly at him, still bore into his mind. He could feel nothing. Then he died.

“You killed him,” one of the werewolves said.

“He was worthless as a man, he would be worthless as a wolf,” the alpha male said.

“Shall we eat him?” the alpha female asked.

“No, leave him for the townsmen, they will know why he wasn’t devoured,” the alpha male said.

* * * * * * *

Paolo and Carlo eventually found an inn, but they didn’t get as far as Catalonia. They settled themselves into a small village in Languedoc about halfway between Toulouse and Montpellier and catered to travelers and merchants going in either direction. There was some suspicion as to their relations, but they were both foreigners, could barely speak the language, yet, tithed regularly and helped the poor, so a lot of gossip was simply taken as such and everyone in the village knew who did the worst gossiping of all. It helped that they set a good table in the evening and served good wine throughout the year.

* * * * * * *

Gunther graciously received his chalet from the dwarfs and lived a long and fruitful life. Some might say he lived a tad longer than one might expect, but it was hard to tell because eventually he was always the oldest man in the valley. When he finally died, the dwarfs took him into their mines and gave him a proper dwarf burial.

Saeed moved in with Gunther, but never again shared a bed with another man. He married young, as was the custom in the valley, had happy children, who gave him happy grandchildren, and lived all his days in Gunther’s chalet.

* * * * * * *

Today there are rumors the Valley of the Dwarfs still exists in what used to be the Hinterland. It is said spring flowers are sweeter, bees buzz friendlier, and little furry creatures scamper along hidden paths with greater purpose. There are those who have come this way and report seeing people living in the valley, but no one seems able to find their way back. It’s as if once seeing paradise and choosing to leave, you’re never given a second chance to return.

END