The Tiers of the Shiverfang

[Diadems of Promethion]

“May Ronus forgive me! Or did I abandon all courtesy alongside my dignity when that blasted elf tied me up? Throld Sartet, merchant and raconteur, at your service.” The dwarf bowed his cropped scalp, not breaking the rhythmic tread of his cured auroch-hide boots across frost-hard Salvic trail. “And thank you kindly for your praise. I suppose I do have a reputation in certain circles, Breaker. Although it’s nothing as impressive as yours.”

“A merchant? With so few wares?” Breaker asked, sending a glance like a broadsword at the light pack Throld shouldered.

A low chuckle rolled across the waves of coarse knee-high grass. The dwarf ran a meaty hand ran across his close-shaven chin, morn fire glinting upon dusky chest hair.

“My family deals in a variety of goods... wines, gems, cloths, metals, the magical and the mundane of worlds both over and under. But I leave the carting and hauling to those who can manage pack animals without eating mouthfuls of excrement, especially above ground... oh, it’s a dwarven thing. Rather, I’m the friendly face you send to begin negotiations, the crowbar you use to pry open a barony of notorious small-mindedness. But my true wares are what you’re paying for from me at this very moment. The most valuable commodity in all the world.”

A second devious chuckle welled in his throat. He leant close, heady breath steaming into the promise of an overcast afternoon. Breaker had a strong, earthy scent - the scent of a life well-lived - but with a lingering undertone of mystery. It tickled Throld’s sense of story: another tavern tale to tease from its covers and sow into the soil of an eager audience.

“As a merchant I travel where I wish to hawk my wares. With a wink and a wave, a hundred princes and a thousand paupers dine at my table. As a raconteur I tease truths out of lies and weave lies out of truths. With a single word I can make a man or topple a dynasty.”

With equal alacrity he retreated from his travelling companion, enjoying the theatrical pause as he took the time to scan the withered moorlands. No sign of pursuit dogged their footsteps, though doubtless the Blackcloaks would take greater care now they knew who accompanied him. Ahead the trail rolled for many leagues before disappearing into heavy cloud upon the northern horizon.

“Information, Breaker. I deal in information. I don’t pretend to compete with the specialists in the field. And I leave the cut-throat aspects of this business to those more bloodthirsty than I. But I daresay that I’ve picked up a few juicy tidbits in my time.”

“Such as your tale of the Tiered Mountain?”

The dwarf chuckled a third time, sniffling messily as the chill infiltrated his nostrils. Almost on a whim he struck off across countryside, through a gaggle of thorny bushes that in time revealed to their feet a muddy, ill-used track.

“Like all good stories, it starts with a grain of fact. Like all good tellers, I then embellish it with glamourous smoke and mirrors. The Tiered Mountain does exist, of this I am certain. And I also know where.” Grinning up at Breaker he patted his chest pocket, drawing the man’s attention to a creased sheaf of parchment tucked there. “I have enough evidence to speculate that the Church used it as both training ground and reliquary, both before the Saint’s War and during it. Hundreds of students must have thronged its halls during its heyday, striving - or driven - towards the Sway’s ideal of a zealous enforcer. I’ve also got some hints that some of its secrets are far darker than that. Beyond what I’ve just said, though...”

Breaker’s footfalls came to a sudden halt, moments before Throld himself crested the latest rolling rise. Once alongside the tall, well-built man, the bristle-chinned dwarf grunted in satisfaction. He hadn’t really expected any of the villagers to react to his tale of the night before, given the notorious heavy hand with which the Church protected its secrets. But it had been worth the attempt.

His grubby finger pointed at the snow-capped peak that now pierced the clouds in the distance.

“Well, we’ll have to find out ourselves.”