Murdi—Lord of Mountain Clans, as he liked to think of himself, sat at his small wooden desk, pondering. Pale candle light illuminated the tiny and cozy room, its reflection shimmering faintly on the marble walls. Only a row of shelves filled with musty scrolls provided cover for the naked room, save for the luxurious pine desk that sat in the middle, along with the burly dwarf that rested on his chair, hands brought to his temples.
"No," he said, slamming a hand on the table, parchments and maps trembling. A fine layer of dust began its ascension to the upper parts of the room.
"That greedy basterd is not going to betray Orik. In his foolishness, he still believes that half of Alagaesia will belong to him. And that arrogant Havard," he spat spitefully, his hand hovering over the territory of Durgrimst Fanghur, "he would let a pebble kill him if only that would ensure his descent into history. What's to him a couple of thousands killed to accomplish his ridiculous aspirations?"
Murdi pondered, looking over the maps with sharp beady eyes. "Thodris can see reason, but instead, he sees Orik!"
He sighed and began scratching his dense ebony beard, astute brown eyes analyzing the dwarven territories. He had already spent more time than he wished, but less than how much he needed in order to come up with a reasonable strategy.
When the candle perched on the right side of the desk would flicker and die, Argath would come to bring information about his spies' reports, other positive message hopefully and say that the army is ready. Murdi wanted to prevent that, even if the army assembled at his order. It was in his power to do so.
His thick finger hovered above the map depicting all of the dwarven clans and lands, circling Fanghur, Gedthrall and Nagra like a ravenous eagle. If his plans were to succeed, Az Sweldn Rak Anhuin needed more power, influence, and most important, nonexistent threats from the neighboring lands.
Murdi mumbled something to himself, staring at the scroll with the possible number of warriors with great interest. Compared to his army, such pitiful resistance would be snuffed out like the candle that just…
"Barzul!" Murdi yelled, hitting the desk with both of his fists. The room became increasingly darker, making reading difficult. Supplies were not scarce for his clan, yet Murdi had only brought several candles. The dim light, however, was not his concern. The maps and numbers were already embedded in his memory. No, the time has come.
Time to see what yer mind is made of, Murdi thought, turning around from his desk to climb the small, door less slope that provided entrance to his makeshift study. After he left the small room, the eerie light of the ever-burning lamps greeted his presence, making him squint in annoyance. He never liked such contraptions.
The rectangular corridor in which he was standing represented a set of rooms that had been passed down to each Grimsborith of the clan. For his clan, they were what humans called them royal headquarters, only that they lacked servants. Not because Murdi didn't have such dwarves doing his bidding—everybody was more than willing to serve him. No, they left because Murdi needed to be alone. Ideas couldn't had come if he was not alone, and the future of his clan depended on what his brilliant mind sprouted.
With fast steps that indicated his nervousness, Murdi rushed to the end of the corridor, pushing the iron door aside. The metal screeched in protest, but eventually gave in. The noise and sound of footsteps greeted Murdi in an instant. Crowds of loud dwarves filled the cavern, executing his orders.
"Master Murdi," a sudden voice alerted the muscular dwarf who looked back at the source of the noise casually. He had expected him, the sly Argath.
"Shout or not, I can barely hear ye," Murdi complained, pointing forward to a section where the clang of armored warriors and their unpleasant cries of annoyance had no power.
"Master Murdi, they're here," Argath said confidently, glancing at him for approval. "Havard was quite reluctant to—"
"Does matter not," Murdi interrupted, continuing his walk. "What did Freowin demand?"
Argath's stiff posture flinched with uncertainty. "Half, but—"
"Matter not," Murdi said, walking with the same indifference. "That basterd's army is a locust before mine, but swarms work effectively."
"Fine words, Master Murdi," Argath said, rushing to open the iron door that appeared before Murdi as he veered left.
"Mhm," Murdi grunted, entering the almost empty mess hall. Only a few dwarves still gorged on some leftovers abandoned on the long marble tables. The room was big enough to accommodate a small army, but the same force had recently left it, answering Murdi's command. Two female attendants rushed to Murdi, but Argath cleverly intercepted them with a request for two meals. The women nodded and rushed to prepare the food.
"Reports," Murdi said, sitting on a wooden stool at the edge of the table.
"What about the other Clan Lords?" Argath asked, surprised. He sat opposite to Murdi, dark eyes daring not to look into his.
"I know how to work them around," Murdi said, brushing his dense ebony beard with two fat fingers. "Ye tell me the reports."
Argath placed his clasped hands on the table. "Nothing much has changed. Nagra and Fanghur fortify their defenses and them desperate basterds send messengers to Orik every day."
"Good," Murdi said. "No change means that mine plan is going to work." Murdi lifted his gaze, looking intently at Argath, who reciprocated similar confidence.
"The army is ready," he said, breaking the eye contact. "It's the purpose that is hard to comprehend."
"A wise commander does not wage battles all the time," Murdi said, stopping the activity of his left hand. "Trick yer opponent, and they believe what their eyes see."
"But the other clans!" Argath almost shouted. "The other clans, the reports—"
"Not yet," Murdi said impassively. "We can't fight all of them at once."
Argath nodded, head dropping in acknowledgment and shame. Murdi's fingers ran through his beard once again, his mind preoccupied with the three Clan Lords.
Argath, the dwarf sitting in front of him, was wearing his dark battle armor and brown tunic, the fabric torn around his thick, muscular arms. A brilliant commander on the battlefield with keen eyes and intuitive mind, Argath was the pride of Murdi's clan. However, the brown bearded dwarf lacked confidence and vision, two traits that could have complemented his leadership skills nicely.
"Have they seen the army?" Murdi interrupted the moment of silence, fingers stopping inside the neatly trimmed beard.
"More than once."
Murdi waved with his right hand at Argath, beckoning him to leave. "Send them all here."
The dwarf, surprise visible on his face, did as commanded and prepared to leave. Murdi knew that he forced him to abandon a meal he had probably looked forward to, but such was the price of loyalty. If Argath ever got over his weaknesses and attempt to steal his position as a Grimsborith, the whole army would support him. Murdi had to be careful not to let that happen.
"Order the attendants to prepare more meals and bring ale."
Argath turned around, nodded and turned around to fulfill his new task. Murdi couldn't help but smile under his black mustache. Argath was his friend—he had been commander for more than a decade, yet he never disobeyed Murdi. That never had to happen.
This is going to work, Murdi thought, hitting the marble table with his fingers. Three clans now, Quan later…
The screech of the metal door interrupted Murdi from his musings. Lost in his thoughts, the Lord of Mountain Clans had been ignorant to the passing of time.
Having seen his guests with the corner of his eyes, Murdi got up, adopting a formal stance that inspired confidence and power. Even if they had seen him bending over the table like a drunkard, Murdi did not care. In his territory, none of them possessed any power. They were at his mercy.
"Good tidings, lad," Thodris said, greeting him formally before he sat at the table. Sweet on the exterior, the voice was trickery in essence.
"Mhm," Freowin grunted and took a seat at the head of the table, his green eyes never leaving Murdi.
Arrogant basterd, Murdi thought, frowning at him.
"I didn't accept yer invitation because of food," Havard said, refusing to take a seat. "We have all heard what happened to Vermund after the shame he bestowed upon himself. Yer clan is spit on fine stone."
"Yer my guest," Murdi said impassively, trying to conceal the hatred he harbored for the arrogant dwarf. "Tarnish my name, but not that of mine clan."
Havard laughed chillingly. "Yer threats are empty, just like the table before me."
"Ye'll be fed immediately," Murdi snickered. "With more than just meat and ale."
"I have me own cooks," Freowin muttered angrily. "Tell me what ye have to and be done with it."
Murdi prepared to say something to the arrogant dwarf who spewed his vitriol unchecked, but the thud of footsteps and clinks of steel plates interrupted him. The servants brought lavishly covered trays, each holding roasted meat coated with oil and herbs, along with other delicacies. The feast before them seemed to quench any past spite, for as soon as the metal hit the marble surface, the dwarves began feasting, wolfing down the meat and washing it down with wine and ale. Havard, who seemed to turn down the offer of food, took a seat besides Freowin and attacked his own meal.
Meat will keep that basterd's mouth filled, Murdi smiled inwardly and sat next to Thodris. Nobody in this room was his ally—not yet, at least, but cunningness and deception were less aggressive and provided evidence of a shrewd mind. Freowin and Havard, on the other hand, were not carved properly. Making a compliant work of art out of such crude forms needed strength of character and unfaltering resolution. They needed to understand just how dangerous Murdi was.
"Have ye seen the army?" Murdi carefully prodded, testing for reactions. The two troublesome dwarves, Freowin and Havard, glanced at him ignorantly and continued to feast. Thodris did not even flinch. Chances were that he knew about the plan of intimidation all along.
Murdi smiled. "Ten thousand strong men. A pitiful comparison to Orik's army, yet enough to make me feel secure."
Again, words seemed to evade their ears like logic avoided a drunk man's mind. However, Murdi was prepared for such careless indifference.
"Secure enough to make a certain idea blossom," he said, picking a hearty haunch and tearing into it. "It involves your clans, of course."
Murdi was almost certain Thodris smiled. The sly Nagra knew what he meant.
"Are ye threatening us, Murdi?" Havard almost yelled, meat flying out of his mouth. "Is that why ye called me here?"
"That's despicable!" Freowin joined, metal shaking at the slam of his fist on the hard surface. "Yer sick mind disgusts me."
Murdi's confidence bolstered at such unreasonable words. He could almost feel the tension oozing from Freowin, a nervousness that heralded fear and insecurity. The dwarf knew how weak he was and how much damage a battle against an opponent like Murdi would cause. Murdi knew exactly how to demolish his faltering confidence.
"I will take half of your land, claim half of your clan, but slaughter your entire army. In the end, ye are not even going to be worth half of what you already are."
Freowin looked at him with shocked eyes, then sought refuge into his meal. His hands picked the haunches and bones with timidity, fingers trembling slightly. How could one like him hope to match ten thousands, when most of his troops joined Orik's?
"Clever," Thodris remarked, sipping his wine. "I suppose yer spies are greatly rewarded."
"The reward comes at the end," Murdi said, picking his own cup. "But it will not be Orik who brings it to you."
"Yer sly words and false promises are not going to weaken me decision," Havard retorted, throwing a bone on the floor with contempt. "Ye only want to ruin us so that ye can rule instead of Orik."
"I am not going to," Murdi said calmly, pointing with the cup at him. "Ye can keep yer lands."
Havard's eyes narrowed. The dwarf was suspicious about his deal, but could not simply dismiss it. This was his chance to conquer him, the most rebellious piece of them all.
"What I require of ye is that ye join yer armies with mine."
"What of Orik?" Thodris asked with calm voice, as if the outcome was clear to him. "We crowned him, only to backstab him while he's away?"
Murdi barely restrained a chuckle. "That dumb fool has no vision. Ye think that Rider and his lackeys care about us? Them humans will send our people to die, and then secure the throne for themselves."
"Ye speak of treason," Thodris reproached. "Orik does what is best for us."
Murdi took another bite from the haunch of meat, the small bones sliding between his fingers. How could he tempt Thodris? What could he offer? He needed something grand and impetuous, something that required vision. The answer was clear as the ruby wine in his cup.
"The basterd does what he is best for his clan. Ye think he accepted a human in his clan because of kindness?"
Thodris said nothing. That much was true, and most dwarves found the idea repulsing.
"His army will get massacred or Nasuada and Eragon will take over it," Murdi said with conviction. Both dwarves fell silent, only the sound of munching breaking the monotony.
"It's time we forge our own fate, not the one dictated by humans and basterd elves."
"And how can ye do that?" Havard intervened. "Ye think ye have the power to take over Orik's kingdom and settle the differences between each clan? That's only wishful thoughts coming from a crazed basterd."
"That not be true," Murdi said, getting up. His posture towered above them all like a beacon of inspiration. All eyes were fixed on him.
"Not as long as we stop following past transgressions and stop looking at the stone instead of seeing the mine."
"It's time we form a single clan with us as its pillars."
Murdi, Lord of Mountain Clans, lay in his bed, smiling. The three Clan Lords agreed to follow his plan, even if Havard was still reluctant. Thodris and Freowin had fallen before promises of wealth and unity between clans, and the two already agreed to contribute to his grand plan.
Havard lacked acumen, but the basterd was no fool. While the other two gained confidence when Murdi shared a part of his plan regarding Quan—the Durgrimst with the most influence over dwarves, Havard's suspicions were only then abolished. He was an ally, yet only time could alleviate the mental defeat he suffered today.
The three of them would leave tomorrow to inform their clans of what transpired this glorious day and prepare for the next part of Murdi's plan. As much as he didn't like the idea of giving positions of power to them, Murdi knew how important this detail was in the grand scheme of plans. Alone, he could never convince Gannel to join him, least demand him to go against the most sacred dwarven rule.
He cannot deny me this, Murdi thought, his smile broadening. No one can.