Limbeck sneered—”tried to make peace with the elves! The clarks sent out a delegation to meet them. The elves murdered them, every one. Then we got angry.”
Haplo, having seen dwarves fight on other worlds, could well imagine what happened after that. Dwarves are fiercely bound to one another. What happens to one dwarf happens to all is the dwarven philosophy.
“Those elves who were left alive fled,” Limbeck continued, with a dour smile. “I thought at first that they might leave Drevlin altogether, but I should have known better. They made a stand around the Liftalofts. Some of my people wanted to continue fighting, but Bothar’el warned that this was just what the elves wanted us to do, to come out in the open, where we’d be at the mercy of their snips’ wizards and their magical weapons. So we let them have the Liftalofts and the water. They’ve taken over the Factree, too. But they don’t come down into the tunnels anymore.”
“I’ll bet not,” Haplo agreed.
“And we’ve made life difficult for them ever since,” continued Limbeck. “We sabotaged so many of their dragonships that they don’t dare land them on Drevlin. They have to transport their people down here through the Liftalofts. They’re forced to keep a large army down here, to protect their water supply, and they have to replace their soldiers pretty often, though I think that has more to do with the Maelstrom than with us.
“The elves hate the storm, so Bothar’el told us. They hate being cooped up inside, and the constant noise of both the storm and the Kicksey-winsey drives some of them crazy. They have to keep sending in new men. They’ve brought in slaves—captured rebel elves, with their tongues cut out,* or any of our people they can catch—to operate their part of the Kicksey-winsey.
*A magical song, sung by the rebel elves, has the effect of causing those elves who hear it to remember long-forgotten values once honored by all elves. Those who hear this song come to see the corruption of the Tribus empire and it causes them to renounce their allegiance, join the rebellion. Thus rebel elves, captured alive, have their tongues cut out or are otherwise silenced.
“We attack them in small groups, harry them, make nuisances of ourselves, force them to keep a lot of elves down here, instead of the small, skeleton force they planned. But now…”
Limbeck frowned, shook his head.
“But now you’re at a standstill,” Haplo filled in. “You can’t retake the Liftalofts, the elves can’t ferret you and your people out. Both sides are dependent on the Kicksey-winsey, so both must keep it going.”
“True enough,” said Limbeck, taking off his spectacles, rubbing the red marks, where the nosepieces pinched. “That’s how it’s been.”
“Been?” said Hapto, noting the emphasis on the word. “What’s changed?”
“Everything,” said Limbeck grimly. “The elves have shut off the Kicksey-winsey.”
CHAPTER 11
WOMBE, DREVLIN LOW REALM
“SHUT IT OFF!” BANE BLURTED. “THE WHOLE MACHINE!”
“It’s been seven cycles now,” said Limbeck. “Look out there. You can see it. Dark, silent. Nothing moves. Nothing works. We have no light, no heat.” The dwarf heaved a frustrated sigh. “We never knew, until now, how much the Kicksey-winsey did for us. Our fault, of course, because no dwarf ever wondered why it did anything at all.
“Now that the pumps have quit, many of the tunnels far below the surface are filling up with water. My people had homes down there. They’ve been forced to leave or drown. What dwellings we had were already overcrowded.
“There were special caves in Herot where we grew our food. Glimmerglamps that shone like the sun gave us light for our crops. But when the Kicksey-winsey shut down, the glim-merglamps went out and now the light’s gone. The crops are starting to wilt and will soon die.
“But aside from all of that,” said Limbeck, rubbing his temples, “my people are terrified. They weren’t afraid when the elves attacked them. But now they’re scared silly. It’s the quiet, you see.” He gazed about, blinking his eyes. “They can’t stand the quiet.”
Of course, it’s more than that, thought Haplo, and Limbeck knows it. For centuries, the lives of the dwarves had revolved around their great and beloved machine. They served it faithfully, devotedly, never bothering to ask how or why. Now the master’s heart has stopped beating and the servants have no idea what to do with themselves.