Icevein: Chapter 26

Onyx, Greal, Shineboot, and Chargrim convened in the Rhûl’s Holt rather than the Owners Hall. They rarely used the Owners Hall , unlesssome purpose occasioned a formal council of all the owners, which was rare. Warmcoat, Khlif, and Hobblefoot did not like to attend to matters beyond their own labors. Khlif had watched the arbitration to see Icevein but had returned to the lower workings after. No doubt Warmcoat labored with his mining cadre and Hobblefoot with his engineers. Onyx had sent Peridot for refreshments, and she had returned with a platter of sliced salted mutton and a pitcher of hot mead. There were no chairs left, so she stood near the wall, listening. Rightauger stood against the wall across from her.

“What a brute he is,” Greal said, shaking his head. “I’d say slit his throat and toss him in a gully and be done with it. He’s a murderer, and there’s no reason to entertain him.”

“We cannot ignore law.”

“Why did you not judge him for the slaying of the warden?” Shineboot asked.

“Because he is not entirely wrong,” Chargrim said, lighting his pipe. One of the Mine Runners had already crawled into his lap. “If he is truly a blood avenger, some will say we had no right to hold him.”

“He killed a warden,” Greal said.

“When we tried to take him.”

“But you are rhul of Glint. Who will argue you have no right to detain him?” Greal asked.

“Do you think he may be in the right?” Shineboot interjected, not giving Chargrim time to answer Greal.

“No.” Chargrim lifted his mug below his nose and breathed in the steam. “But our folk have ways of determining these things. They are old, like Icevein said, and hold great weight.”

“It is a waste of time,” Greal said.

“It is not,” Onyx retorted. She always allowed more frustration into her voice when speaking to her brothers than at other times. “Arbitration and judgment is what gives us the right to control the ridges. It is what makes Glint a colony and not just a mine.”

“And besides that,” Chargrim said, “the folk are interested. You saw the crowd he drew. There are many here who hate the Council of Deep Cut, and they will sympathize with Icevein because of it. Others merely want a spectacle.”

“He was clever to use Deep Cut against us,” Onyx said, frowning.

“I did not expect clever, by the looks of him,” Shineboot said.

“A dwarf who has survived as much as he has cannot be a fool,” Chargrim replied.

“Do you think the Highlodes will come?”

“With an escort to protect them, ay yes. Icevein has murdered too many of their kin, and still threatens their own lives. They will want to see him slain.”

The bloodshed that occurred between the Low Colliers and the Highlodes in Deep Cut was famous. Bloodshed among dwarves was rare and costly. When it happened, it caused a stir. It was like the collapse of a stope—a grotesquery that everyone wanted to discuss, that everyone had an opinion about. In an attempt to prevent just this sort of vendetta, the Deep Cut Council had hurried to hold an arbitration, declaring that anyone who transgressed the judgment would be outlawed. It was an attempt to ward off escalation, but there were those who said that it was against claim law to outlaw anyone without their own arbitration, and others who said blood should be avenged, regardless. When Icevein had begun to slaughter the dwarves of the Highlodes, news of the vendetta ran from Deep Cut to East Spire to Glint long before Icevein had even set foot in the Gold River Range.

“Do you think he is bluffing about having testimony?” Shineboot asked.

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“The dwarf is addled by bloodlust,” Greal said. “Or he merely seeks to delay his death.”

“I do not think fear of death would master one who willingly came to us,” Onyx said.

“I do not understand that.” Shineboot shook his head.

“Ay, yes,” Chargrim said, running his fingers through his beard. “Either he truly believes himself honorable and just, or there is some game afoot.”

“A game, surely,” Greal said.

“A trial is worth it, if only to see his play,” Chargrim said, and Peridot saw a flicker in his eye that she had seen many times during games of Ingots.

“We must make sure the Highlodes do not come in arm’s reach of him,” Onyx said.

“Certainly not.”

“And what is this business with wardens and jackals at Fox Scree?” Greal asked.

Chargrim’s forehead wrinkled.

“I do not know. It was by no order of mine, but Fox Scree is far nearer to Sledge Rock. I will set Thrushbeard to get answers.”

“I still don’t understand why he would come here,” Shineboot said.

The talk went in circles for a time, but little new was offered. The mead was drunk, most of the mutton eaten, and Greal and Shineboot left to their own holds. Onyx went to force the young gilke to bed, knowing Iolite likely forgot to cease her labors in the workshop, and Peridot stayed to gather the mugs onto the platter.

“Go ahead and ask,” her father said as she prepared to lift the full platter.

“Hmm?”

“I can tell by your shoulders you wish to ask something.”

Peridot stiffened. What about her shoulders? She became suddenly self conscious about them.

“Oh, don’t be vain,” her father said. “You have strong shoulders, but you carry them high when you are holding back. Go ahead and ask.”

Peridot had not realized she did that, but her father was right; she did want to ask something.

“Why did you not give the poor cooper justice?”

“You think I did wrong?”

“How is it right that the wealthy cooper could buy all the cedar and leave him nothing?” she asked.

“Should the wealthy cooper be penalized for being wealthy?” he asked.

“He should not use his wealth to make others destitute.”

“Is there not a difference between shouldn’t and can’t?”

“What do you mean?”

“Shall I outlaw every advantage brought on by the fruit of labor? Shall I determine how good of a bargain one can negotiate? How much of a profit may be made? Does the apportionment stop at cedar?”

“But he will not be able to ply his trade.”

“That is true, but will the dwarf be destitute as yowgan for the winter?”

“It simply feels wrong .”

“Compassion is a good thing, daughter, but one must not do injustice to please the poor any more than to please the wealthy. Rightbarrel and his sons came here nearly thirty years ago. He was the first cooper in Glint. Before we could spare kulhan for woodcutters, he used to go venture up and cut his own cedar, and he paid us for it. He has labored long, and now he has wealth to buy the cedar all at once.” Chargrim raised an open palm, fingers splayed. “Let the young dwarf struggle as Rightbarrel did. There is more cedar in the Red Ridges than what is on our claims.”

Peridot had felt so certain that the poor dwarf’s cause was right, but now she felt confused. Chargrim must have seen the struggle on her face.

“In arbitration, even your most noble instincts can lead you astray,” he said. “I am glad you felt compassion, but do not let compassion betray wisdom. Even such a noble impulse is wicked out of place.” He tapped ashes out of his pipe and rose, letting the Mine Runner leap from his lap. He ran a hand through his beard and walked to the books arrayed in carven nooks on the back wall.

“You have read The Sayings of the Wise, already,” he said.

“Ay, yes,” she answered. It was one of the books the tutor had used to teach Peridot and Rightauger to read speaking runes. Chargrim reached up and pulled a book down from a shelf, stuck it under his arm, took a few steps to the side, and removed another.

“Here,” he said, setting them on the table. “These are two compilations of claim law. Thanks to Auntie Tourmaline’s efforts again. But you will find they often disagree, though not about the main things.”

“What are the main things?” she asked, looking down at the heavy books. The spines and covers were copper and could use burnishing.

“All claim law is established upon three principles. The right of a dwarf to his body, the right of a dwarf to his claim, and retributive transgression.” Chargrim tapped one of the books. “This one says it was the Crippled King himself who declared these truths.” Chargrim put his pipe in his mouth, appeared to remember that it was not lit, and removed it again.

“What is retributive transgression?” Peridot asked.

“If you transgress against law, then law will transgress against you.”

“So. . .”

“Kill someone and you can be killed. Steal and have stolen. Bloody a nose, get punched in the face. The law no longer protects you. ”

“Ah.”

“Only a king could seize and kill where no law was transgressed,” Chargrim said. “But there are no kings, anymore.” He tapped the cover of the uppermost book. “Read them, and ask questions once you do. Now I am tired and in need of sleep.”

The two returned to the stonehold. Chargrim headed straight for his sleeping chamber, but Peridot cleaned the mugs, returned for the books, poured herself a fresh mug of hot mead from the samovar, and knelt on a cushion, opening the first book.