“The elves were mad, frustrated, but there was nothing they could do. We outnumbered them and they were forced to surrender to us. They offered us money.
“We didn’t want their money*—what was that to us? And we didn’t want any more of their castoffs and garbage.”
*Due to the severe water shortage in the Mid Realms, water is an extremely valuable commodity. Both human and elven monetary systems are based on water. In human lands, 1 bar is equivalent to 1 barrel of water and may be exchanged for such at the king’s treasury or on any of the royal waterfarms scattered throughout the Volkaran and Uylandian isles.
“What did you want?” Haplo asked, curious.
“A city,” said Limbeck with pride. His eyes shone. He appeared to have forgotten about the spectacles that dangled loosely from his hand. “A city up there, in the Mid Realms. Above the storm. A city where our children could feel sunshine on their faces and see trees and play Outside. And elven dragonships to take us there.”
“Would your people like that? Wouldn’t they miss… er… this?” Haplo waved vaguely at the lightning-blasted landscape, the shining skeletal arms of the Kicksey-winsey.
“We don’t have much choice,” said Limbeck. “There are far too many of us crowded down here. Our population is growing, but the tunnels are not. Once I began studying the matter, I found out that the Kicksey-winsey has been destroying more housing than it’s been providing. And there are mountain ranges, up there, in the Mid Realms. Our people could tunnel and build. In time, they’d learn to be happy there.”
He sighed and fell silent, staring at the floor that he couldn’t see without his spectacles.
“What happened? What did the elves say?”
Limbeck stirred restlessly, glanced up. “They lied to us. I suppose it was my fault. You know how I was then—trusting, naive.”
Limbeck put his spectacles back on, glared at Haplo as if daring him to argue. He didn’t.
“The elves promised that they would agree to all our terms,” Limbeck went on. “They would come back, they said, with ships ready to take our people to the Mid Realms. They came back, all right.” His voice was bitter.
“With an army.”
“Yes. Fortunately, we were forewarned. Do you remember that elf who brought you from High Realm? Captain Bothar’el?”
Haplo nodded.
“He’s joined up with the rebel elves; I forget the name of their leader. Anyway, Bothar’el came down here to warn us that the Tribus elves were setting sail in force to crush our resistance. I don’t mind telling you, my friend, that I was devastated.
“What could we do”—Limbeck thumped himself on the chest—”against the might of the elven empire? We knew nothing about fighting. It was our numbers alone forced them to surrender the first time. We were just lucky they didn’t attack us then or about half the dwarves would have run off.
“No dwarf living had ever raised a weapon in anger against a fellow being. It seemed we didn’t have a chance, we must surrender. But Bothar’el said no, we must not surrender. He showed us the way.
“Of course”—Limbeck’s eyes glittered behind the thick glass with sudden, hard cunning—”this Bothar’el and that rebel leader of his have their own reasons for wanting us to fight. I soon figured that out. Instead of concentrating all their forces on the rebel elves, the Tribus elves are forced to split their army, send half of it down here to fight us. The Tribus figured it would be a short war, then they’d be back to fighting their own people and maybe the humans, too. So, you see, my friend, it paid Bothar’el and his rebels to help us keep the Tribus army occupied.
“When the Tribus elves arrived in their huge dragonships, we were nowhere to be seen. They took over the Liftalofts— there was no help for that. Then they tried to come down into the tunnels, but they soon found out that was a mistake.
“Up until then, most of my people didn’t care whether or not the elves took over. They had their jobs on the Kicksey-winsey and their families to care for. The clarks, in fact”—