An Unexpected Arrival
Alison
The dwarf squeezed Alison’s hand with so much force, Alison thought she would break it. Alison reached her other hand into her trouser pocket, producing a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from her brow.
“Almost there,” said Keir. He was at the foot of the bed, peeking his head out from under a white sheet. “Just one more push.”
“I can’t,” said the dwarf. Her full cheeks were as red as her hair, and she shook her head back and forth on the pillow. “No more.”
“Come on, girl,” said the midwife. She was a dwarf as well, and her face dripped with sweat, too, as she held the soon-to-be mother’s other hand. “Show them what you’re made of.”
The laboring woman took a deep breath and strained hard, delivering another unbelievable squeeze to Alison’s hand as she let out a primal yell.
“That’s it,” said Keir. “Dorna?”
The midwife wrenched herself free of the new mother’s grasp and took the baby into her arms just as it began to scream.
“A boy!” she yelled back as she carried the baby to a waiting nurse at a washbasin across the room.
“A boy,” cried the mother.
“We’re nearly ready for the next one,” said Keir to the midwife. “Minra, you’re doing wonderfully. You’re almost there. Alison, are you alright?”
Keir came up to check on them. His dark hair was matted to his head with sweat, and there was blood splattered on his collar, but his eyes were filled with purpose. Despite the exhaustion, Alison was glad to be here with him, to see him like this, to bring new life into the world alongside him. Her heart swelled with love for him she hadn’t yet expressed. “I’m fine,” she replied.
“Oh, he’s so perfect!” cried Minra. The nurse held the tiny dwarven babe up, clean and swaddled in a tartan blanket. “Let me hold him.”
“Soon, dear,” said the midwife, returning to the mother’s side and once again taking her hand.
The next series of pushes took longer than the first. Keir asked the nurse for something called “forceps,” which Alison regarded with sympathetic discomfort as she saw him pull the metal object beneath the sheet.
“This is it,” said Keir. The midwife joined him beneath the sheet.
Minra groaned, bearing down hard.
“Come on,” said Keir. He emerged from under the sheet with the second infant.
This time, there was no cry.
“What’s happening?” asked the mother, her voice strained.
Alison wasn’t sure. Keir told the midwife to take over as he rushed the baby over to a table.
“Nothing to worry about, dear,” said the midwife. “This is why we called the doctor. Sometimes one twin takes a bit longer than the other.”
The midwife brought over the firstborn, placing him in his mother’s arms and blocking her view of Keir.
Alison’s eyes were on him. His back was turned, but she could see him reaching for a bulb of some kind and some vial of medicine from the nurse.
“Come on, little one,” she whispered. She held her breath.
Then, finally, a cry. It was a good, hearty cry, and Alison felt tears spring to her eyes too.
“A girl,” said Keir. The baby’s thick head of hair was still matted with blood, but he held her up to show her mother nonetheless.
He winked at Alison on his way back over. Alison thought of the man she had met just a few weeks ago when she first arrived at Herot’s Hollow, of how he had been trapped in the trauma and pain of his past, and of how far he had come since then.
She was unbelievably proud of him.
He would give her all the credit, of course, as he always did when asked. But although they had gone through their experience in a world built from old magic together, it was Keir’s bravery and willingness to accept his failures that pulled them from it. And it was his tireless work since then to heal not just his own heart, but the hearts and minds of the town he’d been estranged from, that enabled him to take back his place as the village doctor. To get back to work saving lives as he’d done for the baby dwarf girl today.
“They’re so beautiful,” said the mother as she received the second baby in her arms. “Thank you, Dorna, doctor, and especially you, my dear Alison,” she said. “I swear when you held my hand, it was like the pain was halved. I should be sorry to see you go.”
Keir gave Alison a puzzled look. The new mother was not the first person to say this.
“Call on me again if you need anything,” said Keir to the midwife. He led Alison from the room and into the living room of the hillside home, the only room of the house with a window.
“Well?” asked a dwarf man. He and several others sat around a table near the fireplace, a pile of cards and coin in the middle.
“A boy and a girl, both healthy. Minra is fine as well.”
“A boy and a girl!” shouted the dwarf, on his feet to shake Keir’s hand. “Oh, Durtaz is going to be thrilled when he comes up. Can we poke our heads in?”
“Yes, but only for a moment. They need their rest.”
“Will do, doctor. Will do,” said the dwarves, the friends of the father standing in for him while he labored deep in the mine.
Keir opened the door of the dwarven abode into the cool night air. The breeze felt wonderful on Alison’s skin.
He led her by the hand down the mountain trail towards Herot’s Hollow, pausing as they rounded a bend out of earshot of the dwarven settlement.
He took her in his arms, kissing her forehead lightly and brushing the dark strands of her hair away from her face.
“You were amazing,” he said. “How do you feel?”
“Euphoric,” she said. She knew the exhaustion would reach her soon, but her mind was still in the bedroom, hearing the sweet relief of the baby girl’s cry. “I’ve never felt anything like it. I know it isn’t always like that, but I see why you do it. Just one moment like that would sustain me for years. It’s a gift, Keir.”
Keir stroked Alison’s shoulder as he led her on. “I wanted to talk to you about that,” he said. “Gifts. What Minra said in there about you taking away her pain. Rory Wilson said that last week as well when I set his arm. Is that something people have said to you before?”
His face had an innocent, inquisitive look that Alison now recognized as hiding a deeper concern. She thought about the substance of his question before considering what he was implying. “I’ve been told I have a comforting presence, yes.”
“But taking away pain specifically?” There was a bit of tension in his arm that Alison felt was more than necessary to keep their balance on the steep road.
“What are you implying?”
“Nothing. Never mind. I’m just wondering how I got on without you. If you grow tired of your poetry, you should consider medicine. You’d make a fine doctor yourself, you know.”
Alison was dissatisfied by his answer, complimentary though it was, but in truth, she too was too tired to argue. As they made it around the final switchback, Herot’s Hollow became visible down in the valley below. The tiny hamlet lined the sides of the river with quaint stone buildings thatched with straw. In the still hours before dawn, the streetlamps were the only source of light, their flickers catching on cobblestones slick with the last of spring’s showers.
Alison and Keir walked hand in hand in silence through the empty streets. When they reached their turn, they continued past Alison’s cottage to Keir’s larger home at the end of the lane. Although Alison preferred her own bed to his, she did not protest. His well was easier to draw from, and they both needed washing up before going to sleep.
By the time Alison reached Keir’s bed, she was so spent that she nearly crushed Willow, their neighbor’s tabby who had come to split her time evenly among the houses in the neighborhood. The cat grumbled something about humans and their clumsiness, but Alison didn’t hear it.
She was out the moment her head hit the pillow.
Alison woke the next morning to a familiar banging sound.
“Use the flap, Dinah,” she muttered, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and squinting as a bright ray of sunlight slipped through a gap in the curtains. Dinah had belonged to the distant relative Alison inherited her cottage from, and she wasn’t sure whether it was the cat’s city upbringing or just something contrary in her nature that made her resist anything Alison did to make her life easier.
One of the first things Alison had done to improve both her own cottage and Keir’s home was to install cat flaps in the doors. Willow had appreciated the effort immediately, but Dinah refused, even after Willow had explained that while it wasn’t dignified, it was better than having to beg to be let in and out.
The rapping on the door continued. Keir stirred next to Alison. “I’ve got it,” he said. “Go back to sleep.”
Alison nodded, never lifting her head from the pillow. She felt as though she had only been out again for a few moments when Keir came back, leaning over her and gently shaking her awake.
“I’m sorry to wake you, my darling,” he said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “It wasn’t Dinah. It was Aras.”
“Aras?” asked Alison. Another of their neighbors, Aras was a fairy shepherd who was generally too busy tending his flock and farm for them to encounter him often. Not to mention that he had been dragged into the magical vine ordeal as well, ending up trapped in the magical manifestation of Keir’s worst memory until they had found a way out. Though Alison and Keir had apologized, they felt a certain degree of guilt and tension where he was concerned and resolved to stay out of his way as much as possible.
“He brought news from town. The king is coming.”
Alison bolted upright in bed. “Coming here? King Derkomai? When?”
Keir moved out of the way as Alison leapt from the bed, dressing in a hurry. “King Derkomai and his entire court as I understand it. They arrive within a fortnight to Weldan House. My father’s invitation.”
Alison paused from pulling up her stockings to see Keir’s reaction. His relationship with his father the Duke of Merelor, the lord of the lands surrounding Herot’s Hollow and its neighboring town Fossholm, was strained to say the least.
Keir’s face was regretful but not bereft. Alison finished dressing and took his hand, guiding him to sit with her on the bed. “I’m okay,” he said. “I’m not the one who needs you right now.”
“Are you sure?” asked Alison. “Do you want to stay here? I’ll stay with you as long as you need me to.”
“No,” he said. “I’ll come with you into town.”
Alison and Keir retraced their steps from the night before, this time in a rush to get down the lane and up the High Street to the blacksmith’s forge just at the base of the mountain.
A small crowd had gathered there in the open-air portion of the workshop. The fires had gone cold beyond them.
A dwarf with grey hair and a warm, round face greeted Alison first: her neighbor, Gwenla. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here. We heard Minra’s labor kept you out late last night. What terrible timing. We should all be celebrating the twins, and instead we’re dealing with this nonsense.” Gwenla led Alison to the person at the center of it all, the reason they had gathered there: Weyland Gilroy, the town’s blacksmith, a former prisoner and slave of King Derkomai’s, and one of Alison’s dearest friends.
Weyland, a red-headed giant of a man, could never appear small exactly, but he did seem shrunken as he hunched over a workbench. Beside him was Lady Sibba, his elvish love, her long and lovely brown arms wrapped around him.
“Alison is here,” she said to him gently. He looked up at Alison, carefully avoiding the stares of the other onlookers.
“I really don’t know what all the fuss is about,” he said. “I’m fine.”
Lady Sibba gave Alison a knowing look, both of them hearing the lie in his quavering voice. She took Alison by the hand and sat her down on the bench to the other side of Weyland. “You don’t have to put on a brave face for us—”
“He’s not even coming here. I won’t even see him if I don’t go. I doubt he even remembers that I’m here at all.”
Alison had spent the past several weeks working with Weyland on an illustrated poetry book that was nearing completion. In that time, she had gotten bits and pieces of the story of Weyland’s captivity. He never liked to speak of it at length, but she had cobbled together enough of the disturbing narrative that she imagined she knew more of it than anyone except Lady Sibba.
Years before, when Weyland was a young man, he had been apprenticed to a blacksmith in the city of Sudport, the large southern port city Alison traveled through on her way to Herot’s Hollow and where Rinka would be arriving any day now. He was unnaturally talented at smithing of all kinds, from ordinary iron to dwarven steel to elvish silver and gold. His work quickly gained him a following, and when he returned home to Herot’s Hollow to set up shop, it attracted the notice of the Duke of Merelor himself, Lord Ainsley.
The duke brought several of Weyland’s creations with him to King Derkomai’s court at his castle not far from Arcas Dyrne. The king was so impressed by the craftsmanship, he sent for Weyland to be brought to his court and into his employ.
Weyland relished the chance to prove himself and to experience life among the nobility. He was given access to the king’s forge, and his clientele occupied the highest stations in society. He was invited to the castle for dinners, sitting at a table of high honor with some of the most renowned craftsmen and artists in all of Loegria and Wilderise. He outfitted courtiers and the royals themselves, armoring the king, the prince, and even the young princess, although it was largely a ceremonial task as King Derkomai’s family had kept peace among the lands for generations.
The next part of the story was the piece Alison knew the least about. It involved an altercation with a particularly unpleasant baron who was displeased with having to wait on his order. Weyland claimed that all he did was shout at the man, and Alison believed him, but she could also see how the baron may have been frightened just due to the sheer size of him. The baron returned not long after with a group of the king’s guards, most of whom were friends of Weyland’s, men and women he’d personally outfitted. They took Weyland into custody, but rather than taking him to prison, they forced Weyland to build bars around his own forge. The king had decided that rather than stand trial for attempted murder (a charge Weyland vehemently denied), he would be allowed to continue his work as a blacksmith, but without pay. This kind of punishment wasn’t uncommon in the king’s court, although many from the outside had a different word for the king’s mercy: slavery.
For several years, Weyland continued his work in chains. His former friends avoided him, not wanting to be seen with one who had lost the king’s favor. And the king, who was prone to rapidly changing whims and flights of fancy, had forgotten about him entirely. It was only when a new smith was found, a dwarf woman from the Far East who crafted exquisitely sharp swords with curved blades, that Weyland earned his freedom.
He would never forget Mo Ye, the smith who saved him by lying to the king and telling him he’d be better off without Weyland. Nor would he forget the spoiled princess who told her father that executions were boring, and they should just let the big sad man go. And he especially would never forget Lady Sibba, the scholarly elf of Herot’s Hollow who wrote him all through his captivity and kept his spirit alive.
Alison looked from Lady Sibba to Weyland and to the crowd of townspeople who only knew the barest version of his tale, who had all come over to support him the moment they got the news just the same.
“Do we know how long the court is going to be here? Don’t they usually have the Midsummer Festival at the castle?” Alison asked. Maybe they could make it through a week or two of a visit without attracting the king’s notice. Most of the court could be accommodated in Weldan House and Fossholm. Herot’s Hollow was several miles away, at least a couple of hours on foot. As long as no one mentioned Weyland’s name, it was likely there wouldn’t be a problem.
Keir, hearing the question, broke from his conversation with Gwenla and joined Alison. “All summer, I’m afraid. They’re doing the whole season here. The festival, the regatta, the balls. It’s part of the king’s plan to increase the investment in Wilderise.”
He handed Alison a clipping from The Sudport Daily News:
A Most Wondrous Occasion: The King travels to Wilderise for a summer of delight in the picturesque Hill Country
His Royal Highness King Derkomai, ruler of our great nation of Loegria and Wilderise and Defender of the Peace, has designed to endeavor in a most wondrous expedition to our own beloved land this very summer. Arriving at the invitation of Lord Kenneth Ainsley, the Duke of Merelor, the king intends to hold his court from Weldan House, moving the usual summer festivities to a new home, perhaps for good. He will be accompanied by the royal family, the majority of the nobility, and a crew of dwarven industrialists bringing plans to modernize Wilderise into a productive land worthy of investment from the greatest minds and companies in our nation. The king’s entourage is expected to arrive in Sudport within the next fortnight in time for the first event of the summer season, the Midsummer Festival, to be held on the lawns of Weldan House.
“You don’t have to be here,” said Lady Sibba to Weyland as Alison read. “You could come with me to the Rock to see my people. It’s beautiful and tropical there. It would be like a holiday. I’m sure Alison won’t mind a bit of a delay in finishing the book.”
“Not at all,” said Alison. “Lady Sibba is right. If you leave now, you’ll be gone before any of the royal entourage arrives.”
Weyland seemed to consider this as Strelka, his orc apprentice, arrived carrying a tray of mismatched teacups. Alison recognized some of Gwenla’s own tan mugs among the eclectic mix, and Strelka had even managed to find tiny cups the size of thimbles for the fairies.
“Thank you,” said Alison, taking one of Gwenla’s mugs. The tea was good and hot, just the thing for the damp chill that hung in the morning air.
Weyland downed his cup in one big gulp, deciding. “I’m not going,” he said. “Not to the Rock—not for this reason, at least,” he said to Lady Sibba, who lifted his large hand with some effort and gave it a kiss to show him she wasn’t insulted. “He let me go once. If he finds me again, so be it. I can’t live the rest of my life in fear. I’ll be here, at least until we finish the book. Then you’ll find me at the Rock.”
Lady Sibba smiled. “Alison can come too. And Keir, of course. You’ll be glad we have a doctor on hand, on account of the giant ants, of course.”
“Giant ants?” asked Alison, but before she could hear more, Gwenla had come over, having heard the good news.
“Well done,” said Gwenla. She sat down her teacup to shake Weyland’s hand. “We’ll need you, and we’ll need all the help we can get if we’re going to stop this dam.”
“I’m sorry. The dam?” asked Alison. “But we stopped the dam weeks ago. The vine took off and ran the dwarven industrialist out of town.”
The vine that Keir had caused, although only Gwenla, Aras, Keir, and Alison knew the entire truth of it. The others thought the surge in the vine, which was born of the old magic, had been the town protecting itself from the threat of a dam being constructed that would put it underwater and off the map for good.
“See here—” Gwenla pointed to the relevant passage. “‘And a crew of dwarven industrialists bringing plans to modernize Wilderise into a productive land worthy of investment from the greatest minds and companies in our nations.’ More of them are coming, and I’m sure they won’t have changed their minds because of a little old vine. No, it’s going to take more than that.”
“What did you have in mind?” asked Keir.
Gwenla picked up her teacup and took a sip, pausing for dramatic effect. Her grey eyes flashed with mischief.
“Sabotage.”