When the question is asked, 'Who is behind this?' the answer is always the same. A dwarf.

Unknown

Taught ropes drawn back by the hands of a contingent of hearty dwarven sailors, male and female alike, inched them ever closer to their goal. Sails stowed, each heave from their assigned stations upon the deck of The Great Dragon closed the final few feet to the awaiting dock.

Like the tales of the god Diur, the vessel looked like a mighty celestial beast upon the waves. Fighting against both chaos and order while seeking balance.

The sea seemed to protest against the ship's ultimate arrival, pushing against the wooden hull. Painted gray like the scales of her divine namesake, the resistance was enough that manual labor was necessary to assist the normally sufficient design of the intricate docking propellers dwarven engineers had perfected long ago.

The mechanisms strained while they churned and hummed above the waves crashing on the not too distant sea walls a thousand feet further out. The massive rocks provided only a minor respite from the froth boiled up and signaling the pending of a severe springtime storm. The furor of which had been felt in five-hundred years.

Awaiting her and her cargo, an eager contingent of squat, armored forms stood at strict attention. In the center of them all was one dwarf who held himself apart in his appearance, but not in his rigid posture. Based upon his iron crown and voluminous robes of matching gray, his importance among his fellow dwarfs was something that could never be in doubt.

His braided beard was unlike any the others displayed. While the facial hair of each of his kinsmen who accompanied the king was indeed impressive, his was majestic beyond compare. Filled with perfect knots and laced through beads of every conceivable precious metal that could be forged, it was a veritable work of art that refused to be swayed by the tumultuous breeze under a darkening sky.

Will a final, unified pull and accompanying grunt, the crew of the ship snugged the vessel against protective bumpers of rubber that had vulcanized to provide a cushion between it and the dock.

Immediately, a squad of dock hands dressed far more plainly than the soldiers and their sovereign ran forth. They removed segments of the dock's planking to reveal a mechanism of gears below the surface. Placing a long hexagonal rod angled at ninety degrees down into the cavity, they clicked it into place.

Seven dwarves grabbed hold of the horizontal portion of the bar and walked in a circle like a mule on a millstone.

Their tedious action caused a segment of the dock to slowly rise up on an angle with each circuit they undertook. With clanks and grinds, a portion of the pier slanted upward, the end closest to the sea rising until it had reached the level of the ship's main deck. Meanwhile, a section of the hull at the same level as the dock was being removed from within to allow access to the hold. It came apart in three long pieces that had been stacked upon the one below it at the urging of dwarves inside.

The king folded his arms and snorted, annoyed at the time it was taking to get the ship prepared for unloading. But what vexed him most of all was awaiting the debarkation of one particular dwarf who, if all had gone as planned, would be on this ship.

Weary sailors from long months at sea began down the ramp while others went about funneling chests of various sizes out of the now open hold.

The dwarf he waited for was not the last to leave the ship, but nearly so. His was a face the king had not looked upon in over two hundred years. Not since before an upstart Blood Lord by the name of Lars Hedric united the Crimson Thrones of Srabeth and began a new war against his enemies beyond the mountains and to the west.

Their eyes met. Together they exchanged an icy glare that did not end as Cabbat continued down to the docks. Even as the king's brow creased with an obvious distaste at the presence of the dwarf, Cabbat did not seem fazed.

"I could have your head for returning here," the king bellowed upon not receiving a reaction.

Cabbat pulled a rucksack up higher onto his shoulder, adjusting its discomforting weight. He reached the end of the ramp and turned to approach the menacing contingent. "For what cause?" he asked.

"Treason. Rumor had it you were assisting Lord Hedric rather than working towards his defeat."

"I did what I was tasked to do."

At the challenge of the king's word, his guards drew their weapons: axe, sword, or spear.

The king took a step forward. "You were supposed to liberate Srabeth by helping to defeat the Blood Lords."

With a wry smile, Cabbat replied. "Is that not what I've done?"

The king flexed his hands into fists and then released them. "In a round-about way, I suppose. Hundreds of years late, however."

"Is it not said that all things will happen in their own time? Diur's will and all. It was regrettable that I was forced to play such a long game, but results are what matter. Perhaps I could have given you quicker results, cousin, if you would have seen fit to grant me more dwarves."

The king laughed. "You make it sound like you weren't capable. Besides, we could not afford to expose ourselves in such a way."

Cabbat nodded. "I assume you have kept your end of the bargain? My daughter has been well cared for?"

"Well cared for indeed." The king stroked his grandiose facial hair. "In fact, Arreen has been married for going on forty years now."

"Married?"

"Yes. To Marron Highhill."

The name having been spoken caused Cabbat to make a face as though he had just sucked on a lemon.

The king's expression, however, was beaming and taking great pleasure in Cabbat's obvious discomfort.

"I hope," Cabbat eventually brough himself to say, "that this was not a forced marriage?"

"Not at all. Arreen was actually quite smitten by him. She even asked my opinion, fearing your reaction when you eventually discovered whom she had chosen."

A purposeful clearing of his throat gave Cabbat the time he needed to choose his words carefully. "Not who I would have chosen," he said. "But if she is happy?"

"I believe she is." The king nodded. "I have already sent word to Highhill's court that that you would be arriving shortly. In anticipation that you would want to see your daughter with all due haste upon your return."

"And, no doubt, to keep me out of your beard?" Cabbat's suspicious gaze did not go unnoticed among those assembled, the guards still holding weapons ready. He could see how their grips tightened. "I am sure that you did not front my daughter's dowry?"

"Of course not." The dwarven king spat. "I am no fool."

Cabbat gave a followup nod at the admission. "So, since I have been gone for so long, I would assume my lands and possessions have been sold?"

"Per the laws of the Pact, yes."

Another pause from the long absent dwarf. "I further presume that I am now Highhill's servant to pay that debt?"

"Yes." The king's smile broadened.

Cabbat let out a heavy sigh. "How many years? Twenty-five?"

That drew a hearty laugh from the king, one that caused all the pomp of his beard to rattle. "No. One-hundred."

"Hmm. A shrewd maneuver. Considering your paranoia that I would even want your throne, I'm surprised you didn't make it two hundred."

"Well, Arreen is a fine woman and all. But not worth such a high price." The king's insult was fully intended and by the look on Cabbat's face not well received. "I had to negotiate up from his initial offer of only fifty."

Cabbat's response was like ice upon the delivery of the news. Hearing the offloading of the ship's cargo continuing, he turned and watched as they rolled out a long steel barrel mounted on a cart resting on hewn wooden wheels. Three feet around, its one end was hollow while the other was capped off.

They then proceeded to roll out several large barrels behind it. Every now and then, some flakes of black powder would fall from the not perfectly sealed containers.

"What is that?" the king asked.

It was Cabbat's turn to smile. "Nothing you need concern yourself with. Just an invention of mine. One that, because of the terms of the Pact and my pending servitude to the Highhill's court, now belongs to them."

"Is it a weapon?" the king grumbled, his demeanor turning sour.

"As I said," Cabbat replied. "Nothing to concern yourself with. However, I do have some things for you. Gifts. Come, cousin."

Several tall crates were also now making their way out of the hold and being rested on the dock next to the previously unloaded chests. Some of the tightly slatted boxes were wider than others, while some were narrower. Cabbat walked towards them, the king in tow and contemplating what power he had battered away while his guards accompanied him.

With a whistle, Cabbat summoned one of the sailors nearby who carried a pry bar over to him. Taking the tool, he planted the flattened tip between the wood of the lid and the rail of the side. Making quick work of wedging out the nails, Cabbat removed the covering, and it slammed down onto the deck.

Inside the crate was a finely polished stone rendering of a woman with distinctly catlike features packed tightly in protective straw. Thin and lithe, the details were so clear that individual hairs on her body could be made out. She could have been mistaken for being alive.

"Diur's brothers and sisters," the king muttered breathlessly. He reached out and touched the cold stone that could have been flesh. "You brought them."

"I did, cousin. An unexpected discovery after I came into Lord Hedric's service. They formerly belonged to the Blood Lord Carmon Dagarth. It appears that, prior to his arrival in Srabeth, he spent a great deal of time and effort tracking them down and collecting them from across Geiha."

"Do you think Lord Hedric knew what they represented?"

"I never heard him speak of their significance. Beyond simply being superb representations of art from before what humans and elves consider the modern era, that is. Their historical records of what occurred before their arrival on Geiha, as you know, is sorely inadequate. They know very little of that time."

"This is indeed a prize, Cabbat. Especially now with the passing of the Great Dragon. Are they all here?" The king regarded the line of crates now being completed as the final two were being wheeled into place.

"That is difficult to say. Even our chronicles of the old gods are incomplete. But I believe that, if not all, the vast majority. Every one that we know of is here." Cabbat drew the attention of all assembled when he marched towards one final object being wheeled out of the hold. It was long and rectangular, laying flat on a cart and draped in a deep red velvet carpet that hid what was beneath. "The chests of treasures are yours as well, cousin." He waved them off as though they were meaningless trinkets. "I have no use for them."

"What is this? Another statue?"

"No." Cabbat peeled back the covering, allowing the sun to shine upon a slab of crystal within which rested peacefully what looked like a girl dressed in clothing hundreds of years out of style.

The king made a quick and not happy observation. "This child smells of blood. She reeks of the Crimson Plague. Why have you brought her here? Your mission was to destroy the Blood Lords. Yet here one remains."

The king's guards stepped forward, seeking to seize and isolate the morbid tomb and the girl. Cabbat stood between them and her, unyielding. "This child," he said, "was a victim of Lord Hedric."

"We must destroy her. Stand aside!"

"No," Cabbat defied his king.

"No? I will order my soldiers to—"

"To do what, cousin? Strike me down? Perhaps you have forgotten my prowess with the Yut Sa Kah? Do you believe they would stand a chance? Even combined? Considering that I am sure you have continued to refuse to allow your own guards to learn those ways out of a fear that they could use it against you?" Cabbat gave each of the now halted solders individual and personalized looks of warning. "I assure you all I am not some fool to enter into follies with. Which one of you shall be first to learn what a terrible mistake attacking me would be? Hmm?"

"Do not try my patience, Cabbat."

"This child," Cabbat explained without concern, "was infected by the Crimson Plague. But she never fed. Thus her transformation was incomplete. And when the curse was lifted upon Lord Hedric's death and his use of the Tear to undo what had been done to him, she remains unchanged. She did not age. She did not decay. But rather, she persists. And she is under my care. So you would all do best to stand down."

"I cannot allow this."

"This is beyond your power to command or control, cousin. The child is in my care." Withdrawing a smooth cylinder from his back pocket, Cabbat held the polished silver tube out for the king to take. "You'll find I've completed the proper paperwork. In accordance with the Pact. Read it if you wish." The dwarf wiggled the cylinder slightly, encouraging his cousin to do so. But he declined. "No? Well then, that's settled."

"You are playing a dangerous game, cousin." The growl of the king's voice displayed his deepest desire to end this in a more violent fashion.

"You know I don't play games, cousin. Not like you." Cabbat pulled the red cloth back over the slumbering girl. "Now, if you don't mind, I'll leave you to your treasures. I have one of my own to deliver." He cast a sideways glance towards the heavy metal cylinder open on one end that had been previously rolled out. And which his cousin was rightfully interested in desiring to know more about. "One that I believe will shave a good seventy-five, if not the full one hundred, years off my term of service to Marron Highhill." He smiled. "You may be seeing me sooner than you think, cousin."

And with that, Cabbat turned, a contingent of the ship's sailors he had previously paid for their continuing service following him and brought that which belonged to him.