Canth rolled over onto a cloud.

His eyes opened.

Soft white enveloped his gaze. His hand stuck out, and he felt his fingers curl through haze.

What is this?

"You're awake."

He bolted upright, hands snatching for something to defend himself. A firm hand palmed his chest and gently pushed him back with embarrassing ease.

"Now, now, none of that."

Canth fought through a thick assault of dizziness between his eyes at sitting up so quickly. Once the daze cleared, he opened his eyes to stare at a bearded face.

A short, bald-headed face looked amusedly down at him. "You're awake alright. That's something. More than we expected, to be truthful."

"Where...?"

"The Hall of Gerdyn."

"Gerdyn.... Wait!" Canth started. The dwarf put a hand on his chest and guided him back against the bed.

"I'm sure you have a gripping story for us," the squat face chided, "but you can save it for a new hearth."

"No, it's dire –"

"Indeed?" The dwarf raised a busy eyebrow. "Not as dire as your circumstance. Ha! When we found you, you couldn't even walk. Not even speak. It was a miracle we found you before the bears did." His face darkened. "Well, again, that is."

Canth sunk into the sheets as he began to remember. "Castleia. Is she...?"

"She lives. For now."

The dwarf handed him a small wooden bowl with a murky brown liquid in it. "Sip this. You need some food."

Sniffing it suspiciously, he gave it a taste. It was warm and savory with just a hit of salt. "What is this?

"Urine," the dwarf answered absentmindedly, tending to something on a stone table behind Canth's bed. A clatter of metal answered with him.

Hoping the dwarf jested, Canth let his hunger take the best of him.

As he drank, Canth took in the room. It truly was a hall as the dwarf said. Perhaps some thirty feet across, it stretched for at least two hundred feet in either direction. The ceiling was far above, lost in gloom. From wherever the ceiling hung, long chains descended with stone balls at their ends that glowed with faint, white-blue light.

Footsteps rang from one end of the hall.

Canth peered down the tunnel to see who was approaching. An uncanny sight of dwarves greeted him. The short soldiers reminded him of the guards at the legion's fort that had seemed so like statues. These did as well, metal statues of living steel if it wasn't for the eyes that glowed with life beneath their helms.

Among them a different sort of dwarf walked. His beard was a single column of thick hair, belted in rings of gold. His eyes were deep, muddy green and a huge bearskin cloak folded around his shoulders, hiding his frame and armor beneath.

"Ghrun Vhol," Canth's caretaker grunted in greeting.

"Dagn," the well-dressed dwarf nodded. "And who is this?" Canth scrambled to sit up, but the dwarf just smiled. "Calm boy."

Ghrun. Canth recognized the term. It was something roughly equivalent to governor or general. Perhaps equal in rank with the legion's commander though with more administrative duties. What is such an official doing visiting wounded wanderers?

"My apologies my lord. I would stand or bow, but I fear I might fall on my face if I tried."

Vhol garbled in deep-bellied laughter. "Just so. No need for such addresses. We are not much ones for formalities here. Perhaps you'd better rest then, hm? But while you're at it, I am most inclined to hear your story."

Dagn left the table behind Canth, handing a sword to Vhol. Canth recognized it as the sword Threror had given him.

"And while you're at it," Vhol continued in a more serious tone, "explain how you got this?"

Canth opened his mouth but stopped. "Have you not received Threror's hawk?"

Vhol's thick brows furrowed. "We have received no hawks."

A dizziness started to return as Canth staggered for an answer. "But Threror said –"

"Who is this Threror?" Vhol interrupted.

"A soldier of the..." he hesitated for a moment, "fourth legion. He took us to donfan – no, dunfist –"

"Dunfaust," Dagn corrected.

"That's the one! Dunfaust. It was overrun. Two nights ago."

Vhol's eyes darkened. "Overrun?"

Canth took a deep breath of cold air. His next words must be chosen carefully. "Yes, my lord. I cannot say how as my companion and I were underground at the time."

The Ghrun's attention had shifted. His fingers cradled the sword as he traced its grooves and etchings. "And the crown prince?"

"I have no word of him."

Tossing the sword back to Dagn, the governor strode closer to Canth's bed. His hand made a fist of the sheets as his cavernous eyes peered down at where the boy lay. "You have had great fortune. Not once, but twice it would seem." The short dwarf rose to his full height. "In better times we would dine you and rest you." His eyes were storms devoid of mirth. "But too many shadows have already fallen our hospitality."

Vhol twisted his hand in a sharp ring around his head. "Guards, watch this bed. Dagn, see that the boy can walk before dusk. He will have an appointment."

The apothecary nodded knowingly.

"An appointment? With who?" Canth inquired. "Of what? Your lordship –"

But the governor was already disappearing down the tunnel once more.

Scalding water. Fierce scrubbing. A soft tunic. A soothing poultice. Tight cords with a rune lashed around his forearm.

Canth did not remember much of what he assumed to be the afternoon. The daze had settled in his mind, clouding the foreign faces which swam across his eyes. His feet staggered and his breath caught, but still he found himself standing hours later surrounded by guards. Dagn eyed him closely.

"How do you feel, boy?"

"Fine."

Dagn raised an eyebrow. "Indeed? Good. Take him."

Guards prodded him gently. The small troop began walking down the hall. As they walked, Canth passed rows upon rows of empty beds. The glowing stone lanterns hanging from the ceiling cast soft light, unevenly distributed across the ceiling like stars in the sky. The corridors were dank but oddly homey like the familiar floorboards of an old home.

"Is Castleia here?"

A guard to his right grunted. Unsure of how to respond, he resigned to follow in silence.

Corridors passed by. Canth did his best to count them, to watch what runes were inscribed on them and guess their purpose. He heard noises he mentally logged and registered the smells of bread or grease drifted from them.

Eventually they became a transient blur, however. His feet ached. At one point he touched his bandages and felt them seeping. The fingers had come away with a touch of red, but he refused to look down dare his lightheadedness get the best of him.

After more minutes than he could guess, the dwarves on either side of him stopped and gestured to an archway greater than the others. Ornamental inscriptions carved its edge, weaving deep runes into a vivid depiction of goblins climbing the walls from the floor, only to be repelled by dwarves roughly four feet up the sculpture. Above these, however, fire frozen in stone from a dragon on the ceiling bathed the etched scene.

"The King will see you here."

"You won't search me?"

"We already know you have nothing."

Canth tried to meet their eyes but could not get a sense of them. The dwarves' eyes were deep and dark, not to mention hidden beneath the edges of their helms and the shadows of their beards.

He was left with one choice.

The throne room was vast. Indeed, the walls themselves traced from either side of the doorway to disappear in mirky mire of shadow.

A single mountainous dais rose from the floor with a serpentine twist of steps leading up its face. Runes as large as dwarves covered it but were often lost amid the stones' jagged faces. The whole structure seemed to be of one monumental chuck of natural rock.

At the dais' steeple some fifty feet up, a dark face stared down from under a sprawling golden crown. The crown shone with pure gold, emitting a sinister light of its own. It was a warped, twisted thing sculpted in the images of deer antlers, gemstones, dwarven faces, raven wings, and dragons into one terrifying and beautiful adornment.

"Who are you that you come before the King of the Peak?" a clear voice called. It filled the vast chamber and ricocheted three times over like the call of an army.

Canth trembled. Clenching his fists, he forced his eyes to rise to the dwarf under the mighty crown.

Willing his stiff knees to bend, he fell and raised a clench fist to his brow. "May your mountains stand forever, Arkenarth Targrun. I am called Canth of Arcath, an emissary of my people to find your grace."

"Your emissary comes on dark times, Canth of Arcath. My mountain is consumed by beasts of our own crags. You will find few favors here."

Canth took a shaky breath, struggling to ignore sharp twinges beneath his bandages. This is the goal. I have one shot.

"I can ask no favors of you, Great Arkenarth. Save in word. I must ask of your wisdom in counsel. And greater in purpose is this: that I would bring word of eldest son and his fate at Dunfaust two nights ago."

Light shining from the king's twisted helm splayed across the room as king shifted.

"Rise."

Resisting the urge to breath deeply, Canth struggled to his feet. He stumbled, dropping momentarily. Pushing back up, he lifted his eyes to the king again.

"You come upon ill tides with ill news. What could you possibly ask of me in exchange?" the dwarf thundered.

Canth closed his eyes. This is it.

"This I will gladly share, along with the news of the crown prince –" he opened his eyes, "but only with King of the Peak. And you are not him."