The dwarves led him into the mountain, but these were no caves. They were tunnels of marvelous workmanship, well aired and drained, making use of skylight and running water to add light and music to the interior. Tiny trickles of fresh water fell in curtains along the passage, and sheets of cut crystal reflected splashes of light. The entrance hallway was taller than it was high. Dwarves passed through it, often bearing lamps and papers, along red carpets that lined the main entry hall. In the deeper depths, a beard or two glowed faintly as its owner passed from door to door.
“The rest of it is sound and well-tunneled, but the entrance hall was designed to impress visitors,” Djer said. “Have you ever seen the like? Ever imagined that such could exist?”
“No,” Auron said, and understood a little better Djer’s “honor of serving the Company” talk.
They walked over arches bridging pools filled with gold and white fish, and gardens of rock, crystal, and colorful fungus. From some tunnels, Auron smelled cooking meat or baking bread. Others smelled like draft animals, as there were horses deep within the catacombs to help the dwarves in their labor. Whenever there wasn’t the sound of trickling water, they could hear the sound of hammers ringing faintly up ventilation shafts; the whole construct reminded Auron of the busy honeycombs he had raided.
Finally they stepped into an alcove and went up a turning stair, then to a wider stair filling the end of an interior hall, larger than Auron’s egg cavern.
“The Gathering Hall,” Djer explained. It’s dark now, but at celebrations, the lamps are lit, and the marble is polished so it reflects light like a still pool does the sun. I saw it thus when I joined the Company at my greeting ceremony.”
“That was a good group,” Sekyw said. “Many of them no longer drive carts; they’ve opened up trade routes and manage them. I wish your achievements were worth bragging about, young dwarf.”
“If you’re referring to Brorn of Gallahall and his cousin Mriorn, they’ve been in civilized country. I’ve been among barbarians these years, in the by.”
Sekyw frowned. “Serious dwarves never make excuses.”
“I wasn’t making excuses; I was drawing a comparison.”
They came to a long hall, mosaic portraits of gray-bearded, glowering dwarves lining the walls.
“The original ten Partners,” Sekyw said, slowing his pace so the other two could look. “They started the Diadem as porters, carrying loads from the eastern landing at the top of the falls to the calmer waters here. On their backs to start with—they had no money for draft animals. No iron road, nothing but a trail then. Hard days: they had to face blighters, bears, forest wolves, robbers, even . . . errr, dragons. Now there are sixty Partners, though some run halls in other cities, or in the east. Little dragon, the Chartered Company is greater than many kings in this world. Kings grow feeble and die, sometimes their kingdoms die with them, but the Company only grows stronger with each generation.”
There respectful silence reigned in the upper halls; the scroll-carrying dwarves wore slippers instead of boots.
“How many Partners still live?” Auron asked.
“Only two. Old Vekay and his brother, Zedkay. They’re both over six hundred, which is ancient for our people. They occupy sinecures now; we wheel them out for ceremonies. The younger Partners have the real power. Speaking of which, I’m taking you two to see Emde, who manages the Eastern Route from here.”
“I had hoped for Byndon,” Djer said.
“Byndon’s out. Vekay and Zedkay didn’t like it, but they’re only two, after all. Emde’s the real up-and-comer nowadays, a good dwarf to have on your side and a bad one to cross.”
Sekyw led them to an antechamber, and Auron smelled outside air. A number of dwarves bearing leather folios waited on stools ringing the velvet-lined room. Every pair of bored eyes in the room turned to Auron, who stretched himself on the floor. The ability to rest with neck and tail extended, after his cramped journey in the cart and use of his muscles in the Delvings, gave him contentment that brought a prrum to his throat. Auron smelled tobacco, leather, and paper, odors he was beginning to associate with dwarves of commerce. They seemed to travel in their own world of peculiar contests and jealousies, but he preferred them to the ax-wielding sort.
“By my beard, is that thing purring?” a dwarf asked.
“Forgive my friend,” Djer said. “He’s been long a-traveling.”
“It looks dangerous. Shouldn’t it be collared?” another—a graybeard—said with the cantankerousness of a dwarf still bearing briefs at his age.
Auron brought his head up. “I wore a collar once, and I’ll never have one on again while there’s breath in my body,” he said, in his rough Dwarvish. “I’d advise you not to, but feel free to try—”
“Enough said, young dragon,” Sekyw broke in, glaring at the graybeard. “We believe you. Elbee, keep a bargainer’s tongue—he’s just another prospective employee. The dragon is offering his services under contract.”
Sekyw rang on a bell-rope and spoke in a page’s ear. After the leather-padded door shut, the senior dwarf stood with hands clasped behind his back. The door opened again after a moment.
“Twenty-seven ticks,” Sekyw said, so quietly that only Auron heard him. “Not bad.”
“Hats off, and let me do the talking,” Sekyw said more loudly, and Djer and Auron passed into the inner room. It was wood paneled, furnished with imposing—and low—chairs, tables, and desks. A dwarf in a most ornate vest with sparkling crystal buttons stood at the back of the room, which opened up onto a sunny balcony. Fine polished glass of some kind filled one wide eye socket. The dwarf squinted with the other eye.
Auron heard the sound of the waterfalls outside, and from what he could see of the view, they were high up the mountain. In their travels through the tunnels, they must have come right through behind the southern waterfall and entered the mountain proper.
His companions bowed their heads. Whether this was ritual or a way to cut the glare from the balcony Auron couldn’t say.
“We’ll finish later, Aytea,” the dwarf said. Another richly dressed dwarf etching on a sheet of polished bronze stood, furrowed his brows at Auron, and left by a different door concealed in the paneling.
“By the banner, it is a dragon,” the Partner said, coming around his desk to get a better view of Auron. He moved in a stooped-over fashion, as if bearing a burden on his back. Jewels were woven into his long, gold-braid-wrapped beard.
Sekyw pulled at his beard, spreading it wide across his chest. “Most honorable Emde, thank you for your attention. This dragon has a rather unique bargain he’s offered me. Or rather us. The Chartered Company, that is.”
Auron felt Djer stir next to him, and smelled nervous sweat on Sekyw.
The Partner leaned over even more and brought his monocled eye level with Auron. “Is that so, future skyking?” he said in Parl. The dwarf’s pupil looked like that of a hungry wolf’s behind that plate of tinted glass.
“I know some of your tongue,” Auron said. “But if you’d rather speak in Parl, that is easier.”
Sekyw cut in: “The drake seeks a road east; he says he searches for a distant family member or somesuch. We’ve offered to take him along, as treasure guard. Though he breathes fire and bears the scars of battle, he has no appetite for precious metal. He could keep all—thief, brigand, or dishonest dwarf—from pilfering our expense wagon. The only cost to us would be his food.”
“Which wouldn’t be one-tenth the cost of trustworthy guards-men, perhaps not even one one-hundredth,” Djer added.
Sekyw tapped the dwarf’s high boots and gave a quick shake of his head. Auron felt his lips pull back from his teeth, and covered his mouth again with an effort.
“Who’s this? Who’s this?” Emde asked.
Sekyw harrumphed. “One of my tradesdwarves, sir. He found the drake on the road.”
“The bargain is with Djer,” Auron said. “And no other.”
“Djer deserves credit for finding you, young drake,” Sekyw said. “Having the courage to sit down and talk with you is to his credit. But only a Partner can make a contract with a non-dwar.”
“That’s so,” Emde said. “Though there seems precious little for me to do, with the bargain, and a good one, already agreed to.”
“Then make Djer a Partner,” Auron said. “For I’ll keep no other bargain.”
All three dwarves stared at him. Sekyw began to sputter like a broken teapot: “But . . . but . . . pttt . . .”
Emde chuckled. “Djer, this drake is loyal to his friends, I will give him that. Young skyking, this copper-whiskered, though apparently promising, youngster can’t be brought into the Partnership. There are rules, traditions, codicils, seniorities—”
“I thought you were simple dwarves of trade. If it is so difficult, I can find my own way east.”
“Just a moment,” Emde said, holding out his hands. “You’ve not even tasted the hospitality of the Chartered Company. At least have a meal before you go. It’s not every day one gets to talk to a young skyking.” The Partner pulled on another bell-rope by the door his secretary had left from.
