The Balborite Curse (Book 4) (20 page)

The guard did not question why a dragon rider would arrive at their city, unannounced, on an old horse, tethered to a donkey cart with the carcass of a slaughtered hog in the back.

The man bowed low. “Welcome, dragon rider! Please enter our humble keep. Our larder is yours.” Beyond the doors, the caverns seemed dark and foreboding. Tallin waited a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

He turned and addressed the guard. “This horse, cart, and pig are my welcoming gift to Utan. Please see that they are taken care of.”

“I will, my lord,” he replied, accepting the horse’s reins. The guard pointed down a cavern on the right. “Follow that path to reach a set of stairs up to the main level. From there, someone will help you find Miss Mugla.” Tallin nodded his thanks. The guard bowed again and turned around, leading the horse away.

Tallin exited the chamber and walked about ten paces before he saw the glow of torchlight. Dozens of oily torches sputtered on the walls, spread out over sporadic intervals. The pungent smell of burning animal fat carried through the air.

Tallin paused for a moment, absorbing the sights and sounds around him. He could hear children’s laughter and the sound of a hammer against an anvil. Water dripped constantly in these caves, and the path was muddy and crumbling on one side.

An adult dwarf passed by him and nodded, and then a few moments later a child did the same. Although they eyed him curiously, they greeted him with warm smiles. Tallin was pleased to see that the dwarves at Highport now looked healthy and well fed. Several seasons ago, so many of them were starving.

Tallin arrived at the Welcomer’s Hall, which was simply a larger cave off the main atrium. There was a single torch on the wall and wooden stools for seats. Tallin could smell the thick odor of manure mixed with topsoil. The cave had a steep drop overlooking the main cavern. Tallin peeked out over the edge and saw vast mushroom fields, as far as the eye could see. Mushrooms grew everywhere, including up the walls. There was a pond below, as well as animal pens. Hundreds of goats bleated behind wooden fences, waiting to be led outside to graze.

At the center of the mountain, a path traversed the inside of the caldera, where reflected sunlight allowed for limited agriculture. The Vardmiters worked hard to cultivate plants that would grow well in the dappled shade. From a distance, Tallin saw rows of crimson-leafed rhubarb, cabbage, and a variety of beans.

An older dwarf walked by, pushing a handcart full of baskets. Several children followed behind him, each holding a basket. They gathered mushrooms as they walked, chattering happily. The dwarf straightened up and stretched. “Good day, sir!” he said with a wave. “Are ye the visitor?”

“Yes,” Tallin responded. “I seek Mugla Hoorlick, your spellcaster. Do you know where she is?”

The man seemed rather excited about this, and he nodded enthusiastically. “She lives in the upper chambers in a cave near the iron forge. Just a moment.” The man waved one of his youngsters over to him. “My son will find Miss Mugla for you.”

The boy raced off in the opposite direction, running as fast as his feet would take him.

Tallin exhaled deeply and sat down to wait.

Mugla grabbed her tortoiseshell comb and tried to pull it through her hair, tugging at her unruly gray curls. The tangled mess was impervious and she gave up, opting instead to tie it back with a scrap of fabric. Her arthritic fingers struggled with the knot, but she finally succeeded, smoothing a few stray hairs back from her forehead.

Her body ached. She was old, even for a dwarf. She had seen a lot in 450 winters. Or was it 451? She could never remember. Taking a moment to massage the crick in her back, she looked into the silver mirror hanging on the opposite wall. The reflection looking back at her was that of an old woman.

Long ago, further back than she cared to remember, Mugla had been pretty. Many had asked for her hand, but she never married, choosing instead to study the magical arts. She became a skilled spellcaster, training with the finest dwarf mages in Mount Velik. She had a hazy recollection of those years, when she studied with the great masters.

It all seemed so distant now, like a half-remembered dream. Mugla sighed
—she could not recall what she looked like when she was a maiden—even the color of her hair escaped her. It had been gray for so long that she had forgotten.

Now her face was seamed with countless wrinkles, her cheeks sunken, her hair wiry like a pig’s bristle. Some days she felt so old.

Then she shivered.
Enough of this nonsense!
What am I complaining about? I need to get to work
—these people need me. She flung a sheet over the mirror and walked into the kitchen.

She poured herself a cup of hot tea, wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, and stepped outside.

The main cavern was right outside her door. It was barely dawn, and the Vardmiters were already hard at work. Groups of dwarves toiled below, working feverishly on new caves.

Five years ago, the Vardmiter clan defied King Hergung and abandoned Mount Velik, moving west to the Highport Mountains.

Their new home had insufficient caves, deep tunnels that led nowhere, and hazardous sinkholes in inconvenient places. Unlike Mount Velik, which had a logical structure, the Highport Mountains were a labyrinth of fragmented caverns. The Vardmiters dug new caves constantly, wherever there was space. It was not uncommon for several families to share a single cave, sleeping in cramped piles on the floor or crammed into hastily built bunk beds. Any new caves were quickly occupied by growing families. The Highport caves were not well suited to them, but somehow, the Vardmiters managed.

Due in part to their history of strife, the Vardmiters believed that true prosperity existed in large families. Therefore, married couples were eager to produce as many children as possible to add to their “wealth,” and young women were married off right away. There were never any orphans, because another family immediately adopted any child who lost his parents.

Since a dwarf’s fertility could last sixty years, it was common for a Vardmiter family to have twenty children or more. Despite their poverty, Vardmiter children seemed happy, and extended families were close.

Mugla was the only mage serving the entire clan, so her cave was in a place of honor, elevated above the main hall. Her quarters were huge. When she first arrived here, Utan, the leader of the Vardmiter clan, was so thankful that he gave her the best sleeping furs and pottery to decorate her cave. She appreciated Utan’s thoughtfulness, but she would have preferred a smaller cave down in the main cavern with the other dwarves.

She didn’t need the extra space, and she hated walking down the long flight of stairs every morning. But she understood why Utan chose to put her there—her cave was in a conspicuous spot. Her presence gave the Vardmiters hope. They all felt better knowing they had at least one spellcaster who was willing to help them. So Mugla kept quiet and didn’t complain.

Before the clan schism, there were six spellcasters serving the entire dwarf kingdom. Now there were five at Mount Velik, and one at the Highport Mountains… namely, her.

Unfortunately, she could never return to Mount Velik, now that she was considered a traitor. The other dwarf mages supported her decision, but they stayed behind, and who could really blame them?

Mugla knew that she would never receive payment for anything she did here. The Vardmiters were always grateful to her—they offered their humble food, or gifts they had made themselves. Mugla usually declined; she knew that most of them had nothing to spare, especially food.

Why would any competent spellcaster choose a life like this? It was a life of endless toil, surrounded by destitution and hunger. The Vardmiters were outcasts—
castaways.

They were the lowest clan, the poorest of the poor. Many were crippled, blind, or diseased. Evidence of poverty was everywhere, from their threadbare clothing to their meager food supplies. Despite all this, Mugla served the Vardmiters without complaint, because they were a proud, hardworking people. Even in the face of scarcity, there was happiness here
—and everyone worked together without vanity or conceit. She had a genuine fondness for these people, and that was why she stayed.

She walked carefully down the stone steps, her aching joints protesting with every step. She passed through the main hall, waving at the workers. They all shouted morning greetings as she walked by.

Her first patient was a young woman named Hiyle, in labor with her first child. She had been in labor for two days, and the midwife had been unable to birth the baby, so Mugla was asked to intervene. 

Mugla hobbled over to the cave, nodding at Hiyle’s husband who was waiting outside. The young father’s clothing was threadbare, patched in a dozen places. The expectant father was pacing nervously back and forth.

Mugla entered without announcing her presence and saw Hiyle groaning on the floor. She pushed the midwife aside and sat down. “Mugla’s here, missy. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

“Help me!” Hiyle whimpered. Her face glistened with perspiration.

“That’s what I’m here for, young lady.” Mugla flexed her thin fingers, placing one hand on Hiyle’s grossly distended belly. “Sorry about the cold hands.” She rubbed the woman’s belly, her hand stopping right below Hiyle’s navel. “There you are, you little squealer,” she said quietly.

Mugla closed her eyes and willed herself to concentrate, letting her powers take over. Her fingertips glowed, tingling. She inhaled deeply, and at once, she sensed two heartbeats—it was
twins!
Unfortunately, they were tangled up. Worse, one baby was feet-first
—a breech. It was a dangerous presentation for any woman, and more so for a first-time mother. Mugla turned to the midwife, waiting quietly by the doorway. “Fetch me hot water and soaproot.” The midwife bobbed her head and sped from the room.

Mugla leaned down and took hold of Hiyle’s chin in her hand, “Listen to me, girl. I’m going to relieve some of your pain, but not all of it. You must stay awake, and you must push. I can’t do this without your help.”

Hiyle’s lower lip trembled. “Will my baby live?”

Mugla scoffed, patting her hand. “Of course! Don’t be so dramatic, girl! Do you think you’re the first woman to suffer labor pains? I’ve ushered plenty of little squealers into this world. Don’t fret, my dear; you’re fine and your babies are fine. These boys will be born soon enough.”

Despite her exhaustion, Hiyle’s face lit up. Color flooded into her cheeks. “I’m having a boy?” she asked wonderingly.

“You’re having
two
of them.
” Mugla held up two fingers. “And they’ll be screaming bloody murder in a moment, so enjoy the last bit of quiet you’ll have for the next fifteen years or so.” The joke lightened the young mother’s spirits, and she giggled. “Laughter, that’s good to hear. A birthing is easier when you have a positive attitude, my dear.”

The midwife returned, placing a bowl of hot water and a fragment of soaproot on a clean sheet near Hiyle’s feet. Mugla washed her hands and put her palms on opposite sides of Hiyle’s belly. The old spellcaster whispered a pain-relieving spell. Hiyle’s body stiffened and then relaxed. “How do you feel?” asked Mugla.

Hiyle smiled weakly. “Better. I’m more comfortable now.”

“Now I’m going to correct the breech.” She placed her thumbs on opposite sides of Hiyle’s pelvis. “I want you to breathe deeply. This won’t hurt, but you’ll feel some pressure.” Mugla whispered another spell and Hiyle arched her back.

Then Hiyle groaned. “I felt it! He moved!”

“Can you sit up, so that you’re in a crouching position? It will go easier for you.”

“I think so.” Hiyle struggled to get up. Mugla waved at the midwife, who slipped her hands under Hiyle’s arms, lifting her body into a kneeling position. Hiyle groaned, feeling a contraction. “I feel the baby moving down.”

“Good! Now when I tell you to push, I want you to push. And don’t forget to breathe.”

Hiyle puffed as another contraction hit. She held her belly, inhaling deeply until it passed. Hiyle puffed and pushed, crying out as the contractions grew stronger. A short time later, a sharp cry filled the room, and Mugla drew out a red-faced boy.

“You have a healthy son!” she slapped his bottom and tied the umbilical cord off with a piece of string. A second boy followed shortly, as outraged and red-faced as the first.

The midwife wiped down both boys and wrapped them in clean blankets while Hiyle wept tears of joy. “They’re beautiful!”

“It’s good to be thankful. They’re both lovely.”

Mugla rose from her seat, a satisfied smile on her face. The midwife took care of everything else. She cleaned up the mess, put the babies to Hiyle’s breast, and helped her get into a more comfortable position so the young mother could finally get some rest. She hobbled outside where Hiyle’s husband waited. “Congratulations! Your wife is fine, and you have two healthy sons.”

The man almost fainted with relief. “Bless you, Mugla, bless you!” he cried, pumping her hand up and down in a desperate handshake. “Can I go see ‘em now?”

Mugla patted his shoulder.
“Not yet, son. Let the midwife do her job and attend to your new family. Hiyle’s exhausted, and your boys must be cleaned and properly fed first. You can see them later.”