Dimentia & The Dwarves by Christine Stromberg - HTML preview

They also sounded alike, so it was impossible to get a clue from their voices either. The only thing he had worked out was who was in charge, as that one had some sort of decoration on the uniform. At least he hoped that's what it was. If not he was making the most dreadful faux pas every time he opened his mouth to the - creature - and called it Captain Wyles.

 

The names themselves didn't help either, being not obviously masculine or feminine. Eldritch might be supposed to sound more masculine, he imagined, but what of Shia or Noll?

 

The problems this engendered may not be immediately apparent but in speaking of someone in the third person he found it extremely tiresome to have to refer to them by name every time. And the entire name too, as he couldn't use Mistress or Master Whoever. And of course it wouldn't do to ask. Even he had better manners than that. Besides, he wasn't prepared to look an idiot.

 

So far he'd managed by using phrases like: "As our friend here was saying" or "I'm not sure I agree with your colleague on that point". He flattered himself that so far he'd got away with it.

 

Unfortunately for him the goblins were no fools and could see exactly what was going on and were in no hurry to relieve him of his discomfort or enlighten him in any way. Goblins are also well-practised in Unpleasant.

 

The more ill at ease he was, the more they were in control of the situation, and that's how they liked it. 

 

As to whether they were in fact male or female, well, it's all a bit of a mystery. And one they don't readily let others in on. And possibly, of course, they simply don't care.

 

The count yawned, covering it rather affectedly with the back of one slender white hand. A hand surrounded by a frilled white cuff which hung below the sleeve of his black coat. There were also frills at the neck of his shirt, which Rudolph considered very foppish.

 

"I do hope we aren't boring you," the king remarked, looking across at him.

 

Count Drakh smiled a wintry smile and finally entered the conversation in a way that took the king by surprise, for it didn't look as though such a being as this could speak in normal sounds but rather that something much fainter and colder, more in the nature of a bitter north wind, might emerge. However, he spoke strongly and warmly, in a heavily accented voice:

 

"Not at all," he said. "It appears to me that there is more than one game being played out here. These political manoeuvres can be amusing however. Please continue."

 

In the ensuing negotiations, a great deal of discussion took place with very little quarter given on either side but, eventually, it was agreed that the goblins would rout the dwarves, driving them from their homes, in return for money, food and drink. They could "damn well" provide their own clothes, but weapons and ammunition would be supplied.

 

The king had a cellar full of old weapons and ammunition going spare so that would cost him nothing. Ancient they may be, possibly dangerously so, but that was of no consequence. What did he care if some of the horrid creatures blew themselves up during the attack?

 

As the routing wasn't expected to last very long, the clause about weekends and holidays wasn't relevant and prisoners, if and when rescued, should be taken home. Dead or alive. It wasn't as if Rudolph wanted them cluttering up his land, though he managed to find the tact not to mention that. He may have been thoroughly nasty but he knew when to keep his thoughts to himself.

 

A compromise had been reached, however grudgingly, and might even be kept to. Neither Rudolph nor the goblins were known to be the most trustworthy of souls, after all.

 

The goblins left the castle reasonably pleased but with reservations. Whether they had any intention of keeping to the agreement was another matter. Rudolph however was fairly sure he had won them over.

 

"Well," he said smugly, "I think that went rather well."

 

The count was less sure but kept his doubts to himself.  "I do hope so," he intoned. "For your sake." And he smiled in a way that struck the king as rather sly, though he couldn't imagine why.

 

He tried to strike up a little polite conversation. After all, the man was a neighbour, and not a dwarf.  "Your place, old, isn't it? In need of a little - restoration, I imagine."

 

Count Drakh raised one immaculately groomed eyebrow. "I have no interest in such things," he assured his host.  "It suits me well enough as it is."

 

Rudolph pursed his lips. Not that he really cared how the man lived but the place was a bit of an eyesore. More than a bit, actually. He often felt that it ought to be haunted at the very least. And preferably demolished.

 

The count decided to change the subject.  He had no desire to discuss his home. He wouldn't give this appalling man the satisfaction. King or no king.

 

"So, what is your reason for declaring war on the dwarves?" he enquired. "Personally I never see them."

 

The king made a strange sound. Something between a snort and a growl.

 

"I detest the very thought of dwarves," he snarled. "In fact just knowing they exist is more than I can stomach."

 

Drakh sighed. The man was clearly insane. He wondered whether he should put the king out of his misery, then decided that he probably had green blood or something. And tasted vile.  He was clearly not a normal human being. Probably a reptile in disguise. But there again, even reptiles have some admirable qualities. This man appeared to have none at all.

 

That thought of the king as a reptile almost made him chuckle, but he wasn't really given to chuckling. It would ruin his very carefully maintained persona. One does have to keep up appearances. And he had no idea how close to the truth he was, or would be before too long.

 

After Dimentia had left with Tor and Harald, the others from Strathely decided that it wasn't right for them to stay behind. The dwarves were sure they could manage to hold off any goblins that got this far, so, accompanied by a lot of conversation and not much hilarity, the girls together with Alfred, Edmund and Roger, set out in the direction the others had taken. The dwarves let them have some bread to take with them and Edmund had already shown his prowess as a hunter.

 

They travelled for some considerable time, stopping occasionally to rest and eat, and slept at night under the stars.  Such stars as could be seen. The weather tended to be cold and wet in these parts so a heavy layer of clouds was the norm, hiding the stars from view, but allowing an occasional glimpse of the moon. Not that seeing stars would have helped much, as none of them were up to navigating by star constellations anyway.  Navigation wasn't exactly important when you lived in a tiny hamlet with only one street.

 

As they went they also found the occasional cave that had recently been used, evidenced by the remains of camp fires and animal bones. It was assumed that it was Dimentia and the advance party who had left these signs and not some dangerous locals. Fortunately for them, this was the case.

 

The way was difficult, up hill and down dale, crossing rivers and streams, stumbling over rocks and sliding on mud, but they plowed doggedly on, determined to deal with this wretched man and interfere with his plans. Being the kind of man he was, his plans were the only thing anyone would want to interfere with.

 

No one ever mentions latrines in this type of adventure but, naturally, such things remain an essential fact of life. Fortunately the dwarves had supplied both groups of travellers with a small shovel for digging, or hitting people over the head with, as necessary, so they had no real difficulty. 

 

The only problem was a bit of privacy, hence the word Privy, no doubt, but learning to whistle or hum was something these people had learned early in life, door locks being expensive. And as for cleanliness, well, you just know that Dimentia would have something suitable in that bag of hers and she wasn't shy about mentioning such matters.

 

Ahead of the others, arriving at the top of a hill, weary and footsore, Dimentia and the two young men stood looking at the scene spread out before them. They peered across a valley towards the castle of King Rudolph, amazed. Outraged too.

 

There were fallen trees everywhere, fires burning amongst the bushes, and a general air of devastation. It appeared that the homes of the dwarves in this area had been abandoned. The only smoke arising now was from the bush fires, rather than from the chimneys of the underground dwellings.

 

Dimentia walked a little way from the men, wanting a little privacy to think her own thoughts. She stood alone, lost in contemplation, trying work out what they should do. Suddenly she jumped slightly, startled by a voice behind her calling: "Hello there!" then pivoted slowly to see who had addressed her; not unlike one of those ballerina figures in a musical jewelry box.  But with less grace. Considerably less, actually.

 

"Well, buggermebackwards! If it isn't Farty Vaillance," she exclaimed. "Not rusted your armour yet, then?"

 

He was resplendent in full armour, looking the very picture of faded olde worlde chivalry. His armour gleamed in the pale sunlight. At least it did in places. While not rusty, the armour was old, and some of the shine had long departed. Rather like its owner in fact, though he still had an inner glow, which he now proceeded to cast over his old flame.

 

"Menty, old thing! It is you! Thought I knew that backside. You're looking lovelier than ever my dear. Quite the badgers nadgers."

 

Dimentia humphed. "Silly old fool" she muttered, though secretly she was just a little amused, remembering a time long ago when she had just left the Academy in fact. A mere slip of a girl, with all of life ahead of her. And what a life it had been! She'd come across this handsome young man, not a knight back then, just an eager do-gooder with an interest in magic. And young ladies who practised it.

 

They had engaged in what some people might have called a dalliance. How far it went was hidden in the mists of time. And the mists of her memory. Though some things are never forgotten.  Not really. 

 

They had kept in touch from time to time, it's true, but Dimentia kept her secrets well. Maybe her cat knew more than it was saying, but then that wouldn't have been difficult. Cats are notoriously reticent when it comes to conversation. Until they want something.

 

Taking off his gauntlets Sir Vaillance held out a hand in greeting, which was taken briefly, with a short handshake. An embrace would have been out of the question. Far too difficult. Pity though, he thought.

 

Dimentia scowled at him. She knew him of old, and exactly what he would be thinking. Old reprobate, she thought. I hope he doesn't think he's going to get round me again. At our age? Ridiculous. Besides, I'm far too busy right now.

 

Looking past her old friend she noticed a much younger man. Tall and rather slender, not bad looking.  If you weren't fussy.  He wore a patterned tunic and green tights and from his belt there hung various scrolls - some of which could have been maps - a notebook with a quill pen attached by a length of chain and a small portable sundial. On his back was a large basket which appeared to be packed full of assorted items like paper, a horn of ink, a small sea sponge, and other paraphernalia. A bedroll, rolled up, was strapped below the basket along with a small lantern, and he held a long stave- cum-walking stick in one hand.

 

He was looking around him disdainfully, wrinkling his nose as if there was a bad smell. In fact there was a bad smell. It was drifting up from the surrounding countryside. The people of Gdoszcz had very strange ideas about what constituted a sewage system and the results could be overpowering at times and, added to the burning vegetation, it was all rather unpleasant.

 

"Who's your friend then?" Dimentia asked the knight.

 

"Ah! Indeed! This is my squire. Had him given on my birthday and he's proved very useful. Keeps  me organised, don't you know?  Never had a personal organiser before. Be lost without him now!  Dammed useful things. Forgive me, my dear, I should have introduced you right away. This is Tad."

 

Tad took a step forward and bowed low which caused the basket on his back to send all the items within it flying out onto the floor. 

 

The poor man quickly knelt down and scrabbled around, picking them all up and throwing them over his shoulder back into the basket.  He was quite red- faced and flustered when he finally stood back up and gave a short nod of his head this time.

 

"Tad Persnicketty, at your service Ma'am."

 

"That's Mistress to you."

 

"I do beg your pardon - Mistress."

 

"Right. Pleased to meet you I'm sure," said Dimentia, though she didn't sound too sure.

 

"Likewise, " replied the young man. "I've heard a lot about you."

 

The old woman flashed Sir Vaillance a sideways look, pursing her lips and raising an eyebrow.    

 

"Oh, you have, have you?" she said. "I bet that would make interesting reading."

 

"Oh, nothing bad, I assure you," Tad assured her.

 

"Really, Menty, what d'you take me for? A gentleman never kisses and tells, you should know that, my dear." The knight smiled his most ingratiating smile and crossed his fingers behind his back.

 

"I know nothing of the sort. There's a song going around, which I have on good authority came from your very own lips, about The Knight Who Invented Shampoo, and if the woman in it isn't me I'd be very surprised."

 

Sir Vaillance had the grace to look embarrassed. Or at least as much of him as she could see behind his visor did.

 

"Ah. Travelled that far has it? Hmmm. Sorry about that, old thing."

 

Dimentia snorted. Sorry indeed. She'd give him sorry one of these days.

 

Tad looked from one to the other, astounded and slightly appalled.

 

Noticing this, Dimentia snorted again.  "And you can put your eyes back in, sunshine," she snapped.  "We were young once, you know. Bloody youngsters; think they invented everything.

 

"Right," she continued. "I can't stand here gossiping all day. We've got dwarves to save. Come on, you'd better meet my little army of two. What it lacks in size it makes up for in determination and sheer cussedness."

 

If Sir Vaillance was a little alarmed at this news he didn't let it show.  The small army of two, Tor and Harald, were introduced to the knight and his squire and they all sat down around a small fire to have a meal and discuss what to do about Rudolph. They came to no firm conclusion however, as a lot depended on what they found at the castle. 

 

While they ate their simple meal of bread and tea the reinforcements caught up with the advance party. They were all rather pleased to be together again. If they had to die, better to do it among friends, they agreed. Dimentia thought they were all being unduly melodramatic.  Die, indeed.  She had no more intention of dying than standing on her head. And she hadn't done that in a very long time. And just as well, she considered, at her age and with her rheumatics.

 

After everyone had been introduced, and food partaken of, they carried on walking towards the probable site of conflict. There was no sign of goblins anywhere as our heroes, some feeling less heroic than others, made their way towards the castle. There were no signs of anyone else either, or houses, or anything that might hint of this land being inhabited.

 

Astrid commented on the lack: "It's hard to believe that anyone lives here at all, apart from the King and the dwarves.  Where do the goblins live?"

 

Sir Vaillance answered her. "They tend to move around, without any settled abode. They aren't the most welcome of neighbours so they keep on the move to avoid trouble."

 

"I see. That makes sense. But is there no one else?"

 

"In the valleys, yes. But most people prefer to be well away from the castle. This isn't the kind of royalty that people care to be acquainted with. No hangers-on round here, " he smiled. "If you look carefully you can see an old ruin a way behind the castle, rather hidden from this view. I believe there is an inhabitant, though he isn't seen much."

 

Sir Vaillance knew exactly who he was. And what he was. But he saw no point in alarming the young men and women needlessly. It was unlikely they would meet the person in question. The knight wasn't one to be uncharitable about people or their strange habits, but the count was an odd sort of chap, it had to be said. Nice enough however, if you didn't meet him on your own. In the dark. And kept your armour on.

 

Moving on, they discussed what would happen next. The plan seemed to be more about confronting King Rudolph than actually fighting goblins, though if they met any they would have to do battle.

 

Once the king was taken the goblins would soon leave. They were mercenaries when all's said and done and mercenaries wouldn't hang around without being paid.

 

The plan seemed to be working, too, as they approached the castle up a long stony pathway. Still no goblins to be seen and the guards, if any, must have been asleep, not to notice the ragtag "army" approaching.

 

There was an eerie silence too, to add to the feeling of melancholy. No birdsong anywhere, no animal noises. Not even the sound of the wind, as there were now no trees for it to whistle through.

 

Drawing close to the drawbridge, which was down, and then the portcullis, which was up, things did seem to be very odd indeed.  Not a guard in sight! Cautiously the friends, led by Dimentia and Sir Vaillance, crept through the gateway into the courtyard.  Still no-one appeared to challenge their progress.

 

"Well this is strange," the thaumaturge muttered, to no-one in particular.

 

Sir Vaillance nodded but kept looking around cautiously.  Gudrun and Freya kept close to Tor and Harald, whilst Astrid was between Alfred and Roger. Ingrid was holding tight to Edmund and Tad was following on behind, and all were looking extremely perturbed. 

 

"Hmmm. What now?" Edmund wondered. "Where on earth is the man? And what are his guards doing?"

 

"Damn bad show, if you ask me," replied Sir Vaillance.  "Not that I wanted to get into a fight, but this is a little disappointing."

 

Alfred looked at him with some surprise. Disappointing? Not by his standards, thank you very much. Relieved, yes, though he supposed a knight would look forward to a punch-up. It's what they do, isn't it? he reasoned.

 

And that seemed to be the general point of view, given the expressions on various faces. They decided to split up into two groups and look for the King and/or his guards. Dimentia led the men from Strathely  while Sir Vaillance and Tad went with the girls and Edmund, and they crept off in opposite directions. 

 

Dimentia's contingent entered the keep through a large doorway. The door, which was pushed back again the inner wall, was made of heavy timbers, with iron studs all over it, but for the good it was doing now it might as well have been made of butter.

 

All was quiet. They walked on, from one room to another, making as little noise as possible as they went, but all they found was more nothingness. Empty corridors, empty rooms, dark and cold, met their gaze as they progressed.

 

Then, gradually, a sound became apparent. The group followed it down a long corridor to a large room. It sounded like a sort of - whimpering? Surely not. They carefully approached what seemed to be the source of it.

 

There, on his throne, sat King Rudolph, his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them. And yes, he was indeed whimpering. His crown, which he always wore - he was inordinately vain - was now askew, having slipped over one eye. There was no-one else around so they felt it was safe to approach him.

 

"Coo - What 'appened to his face?" Alfred whispered.

 

"Yes, not very pretty, is he? " replied Dimentia. "Nothing happened, actually; his features never heard of teamwork, that's all."

 

"You knew him when he was younger then?" asked Harald.

 

"Oh yes, I knew the little bastard. And no I"m not being rude, that's what he was. Now he's a big one.  Nasty piece of work he was. Always bullying the other kids. It's high time he got his come-uppance. Tor, Harald, hold him. I want to talk to him.

 

"You do?" queried Alfred. "Can't think why. Just kill 'im.  Rip his lungs out. That would show 'im."

 

"No, no," the witch muttered. "I'll deal with him my way."

 

"Well, if at first you don't succeed, I'll kill 'im," Alfred assured her.

 

Turning to the now quivering Rudolph, Dimentia approached until she was almost nose to nose with him. She gave him a hard stare, one of those looks that can turn the bravest of men to putty, and poked him in the chest.

 

It was a thin chest. Bony. Even inside the black velvet tunic with its black decorations, you could see that he wasn't exactly well developed. No six pack lurking there. No nicely rounded pecs. The