He pulled out the glistening dagger. “Why did he give me this? I wanted to see it, yes! I would have been his slave for the chance to study it for a week. And then he just gave it to me. He hasn’t taken it back or even said a word. This—this—this is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen—worth more than a mountain of gold, more than all that back in the tomb. He just gave it to me. After what I did… he should have killed me with it! He should still kill me. So should you. Both of you should have laughed and sang when I…” A hand went to his stomach and he bit his lower lip, making the remains of his beard stand up. “So why did you do it? Why?”
He stared at her now with a desperate look on his face—a pained expression, as if somehow she were torturing him.
“I didn’t want you to die,” she said simply. “I didn’t really think beyond that. You were dying and I could save you, so I did.”
“But you could have died—couldn’t you?”
She shrugged.
Magnus continued to glare at her as if he might either attack her or burst into tears.
“Why is this such a problem for you? Aren’t you happy to be alive?”
“No!” he shouted.
Over his shoulder, she saw Myron and Gaunt still staring, but now with concerned faces.
“You should have let me die—you should have let me die. Everything would have been fine if you had just let me die.”
“Why?” she asked. “Why would it have been better?”
“I don’t deserve to live, that’s why. I don’t and now…” A dark expression came over him and he looked back out at the sea.
“What? What happens now?”
“That’s just it, I don’t know. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve hated you for so long.”
“Me?” she asked, shocked. “What did I—”
“All of you—humans. The water flooded the caverns, so we came to you for help—not a handout, but a fair trade, work for payment. You agreed and to a fair price. Then you herded us into the Barak Ghetto in Trent. We mined the Dithmar Range and you paid us all right, then came the taxes. Taxes for living in your filthy shacks, taxes on what we bought and sold, taxes on crops we raised, taxes for not being members of the Nyphron Church—taxes for being dwarves. Taxes so high a number of us turned their backs on Drome to worship your god, but still you did not accept us. You denied us the privilege to carry weapons, to ride horses. We worked night and day and still did not make enough to feed ourselves. We fell into your debt and you made slaves of us. Your kind whipped my kin to make us work, and killed us when we tried to leave. They called us thieves, just for trying to be free.” He shook his head miserably. “My whole family—Clan Derin—slaves to humans.” He spat the words. “The elves never treated us that badly. And it wasn’t just my family, it was all the dwarves.”
He hooked a thumb at Myron. “He knows. He told you how centuries ago the dwarves helped you, saved you when you were desperate. And how did you repay us? Tell me, Princess, can a dwarf be a citizen in Melengar?” He did not wait for her answer. “Dwarves are never granted citizenship anywhere. Without it you can’t practice a trade. You can’t join a guild or open a business. You can’t legally work at all. And even in Melengar you put us in the most vile corners, the downhill alleys where all the sewage runs, where the shacks are rotting, and where on a warm day you can’t breathe. That’s what you’ve done to us—to dwarves. My great grandfather worked on Drumindor!” He straightened up as he spoke the name of the ancient dwarven fortress. “Now humans defile it.”
“Not anymore,” she reminded him.
“Good for them, you deserve what you got.”
He placed his hands on the rail and stared down the side of the ship.
Myron left Gaunt alone with the rope to listen.
“I’m the last of Clan Derin—the only one to escape—a fugitive, an outlaw because I chose to be free. They hunted me for years. I got good at disappearing. You found that out too, didn’t you?
“Your people disgraced and killed mine. Your kind never did anything unless it was for profit—and you call us greedy! I’ve heard your tales of evil dwarves kidnapping, killing, imprisoning—but that was all your doing. Why would a dwarf kidnap a princess or anyone? That was you using us as an excuse for your own sins.
“Every few years, knights would come into the ghettos and burn them. Those so-called defenders of the law and decency would come in the middle of the night and set fire to our miserable shacks in the dark—and always in winter.”
He turned and faced her once more. “But you…” He sighed, his eyes losing their fire, fogging instead with bewilderment and weariness. “You risked yourself and saved my life. It doesn’t make sense.”
He sat down, looking exhausted. “I’ve hated you for so long and you go and do this.” He put his face in his hands and began to rock forward and back.
“Maybe,” Myron said, coming behind the dwarf and placing a hand on his back. “Maybe Magnus did die.”
The dwarf looked up and scowled.
“Maybe you should let him die,” the monk added. “Let the hate, fear, and anger die with him. This is a chance to start over. The princess has given you a new life. You can choose to live it any way you want starting right now.”
The dwarf lost his scowl.
“It’s scary, isn’t it?” Myron said. “Imagining a different life? I was scared too, but you can do it.”
“He’s right,” Arista said. “This could be a new start.”
“That all depends,” Magnus replied, “and we’ll find out soon enough.”
The dwarf stood up.
“Royce!” he shouted. “Come down a second.”
The thief looked irritated but grabbed a line and slid down, touching the deck lightly.
“What is it? I can’t leave Mauvin up there alone, and I’m not feeling very well as it is.”
Magnus held out Alverstone. “Take it back.”
Royce narrowed his eyes. “I thought you wanted it.”
“Take it. You might need it—sooner than you think.”
Royce took the dagger suspiciously. “What’s going on?”
Magnus glanced at Arista, and Myron, and lastly at Gaunt, who had finally secured the jib and walked over.
“Before we left Aquesta, I made a bargain with the Patriarch.”
“What kind of bargain?” Royce asked.
“I was supposed to kill Degan after we found the horn, but before we left the caves. I was hired to kill him and return the horn to His Grace.”
“You planned to betray us—again?” Royce asked.
“Yes.”
“You were going to kill me?” Gaunt asked.
Royce stared at Magnus and looked down at the dagger.
Myron and Arista watched him closely, tense, waiting.
“Why are you telling me this?”
The dwarf hesitated briefly. “Because… Magnus died before he could go through with it.”
Royce stared at the dwarf, turning Alverstone over and over in his hands and pursing his lips. He glanced at Arista and at Myron, then nodded. “You know, I never did like that short son of a bitch.” He held out the dagger. “Here, I don’t think I’ll be needing it.”
Magnus did nothing for several minutes but stare at the dagger. He seemed to have trouble breathing. He finally stood up straight. “No.” The dwarf shook his head. “Magnus thought—when you gave him that dagger—it was the most valuable gift he could ever receive. He was wrong.”
Royce nodded and slipped Alverstone back into the folds of his cloak. He gripped the rope and began to climb.
Magnus stood looking lost for a moment.