At the moment of conflict, I hid. We had already discussed it. Chapatrueno had to be the first to face these thieves. If he was a dwarf, there was a chance to start on the right foot in this deranged world he once called home.
The hammer burst another shield. From here, I could see the poor craftsmanship. For dwarves famous for their forge work, this was disappointing. Seeing one of them thrown into the air by this dwarf warrior's shield, I lost interest. I identified the supposed rivals as something more harmless than some of the Dark Forest's beasts—nothing to worry about. Except for one, clad in iron armor, who watched everything with a grimace of disgust and greed. Chapatrueno had told me about them—the famous "Mediators."
It was stupid! I told him the day before entering these caves. How could they fight over what another had crafted? How could anyone survive in this situation? He remained silent at so many questions. It was night, and he had fought against hundreds of these beings animated by dark energies. The hidden moon left the lighting in a state only creatures accustomed to darkness could take advantage of. I could hear him—he was not sleeping. What he always did when fatigue overcame him was not sleep; it was a lethargy, something like death. Even his breathing was slow, as if he were reprimanding himself for each inhalation. Finally, he began to speak.
He came from difficult times. The mountain was a place where no one should live. As a youth, he learned the misery of the place. I could not believe it. We Forest Elves had it horrible, but we were united among ourselves. Even when abandoned, we sought all means to make our survival more comfortable. There, it was not like that. What I now saw in person still echoed in my mind.
The city was large but in a ruinous state. The constructions were stone, piled one on top of another. This was due to the lack of drinking water and its monopolization by the wealthy who owned land over water deposits. They did not invest in technology beyond a well hole and a couple of buckets. Everything else was spent on hiring mercenaries or possessing more and better weapons. Those fighting were only a minority. Most I saw hiding in house doorways, wearing filthy shirts, a few with raw leather armor, and only occasionally did I see the characteristic gleam of copper. But most carried weapons—miserable belongings of a society that fought over everything while those above took the best. I moved behind the buildings, hearing the attackers' shouts. They were stubborn, I had to admit, but they also had characteristics distinct from the rest. Their skin tone, for example, was a clear grimy color—proof that they bathed occasionally. But it contrasted with the dark red tones of those who only carried weapons. These were poor dwarves, Chapatrueno explained. They had no income for even food, but in the caves, a mushroom grew easily and was edible. So they ventured into abandoned sections of the mines to gather that food. The weapons were not to wage war on others—they were to face the fauna of those sites. They fought for food.
The combat lasted another half hour. The idiots who fought were already on the ground with various parts of their bodies in strange directions. They were not dead—at least, not all. The final battle was a shield strike against a hammer—a discordant gong from poorly worked metals.
He approached my dwarf—I had to be careful with these thoughts; it was not mine, and he might kill me if he ever found out what I thought—I felt. From here, the conversation was not very clear. This Mediator extended his hand in a typical symbol—he was asking for money. Chapatrueno pointed to the fallen, but the dwarf denied and extended his hand again. At that moment, I could hear the conversation of one of the hiding dwarves:
"Damn assessor! He probably wants gold for what that warrior won. What did a surface dwarf come to do here? They'll declare his fight lost because of the level of his weapons. And look, now he's asking for money or for him to hand over some of his tools—they're precious! That war hammer could be better with good mithril. Look how furious the dwarf is. It's strange; I don't remember anyone from this city wearing so many luxuries. But that dwarf is from here—his beard braid identifies him as born in this place. Who could he be? Anyway, if he's from here, he knows he only came to lose his belongings. The assessor uses magic—he doesn't fight fair..."
I stopped paying attention—not because they were not saying useful things, but the mention of magic worried me. Chapatrueno was good with magic and did more damage than anyone I knew—except the Dark Lord himself. At that moment, I saw the Deathbringer laugh. It was clear. I had not seen any other expression from him besides fury and hunger. But he laughed—openly. Every time his armor clinked with laughter, the Mediator's face darkened more. Finally, he shouted that if he did not want to pay, he could not take anything—it was possible he could not take anything anyway, given that he used unfair tactics. Unfair tactics against more than two dozen men who had charged without permission? Now they writhed on the ground, but they had arrived very brave and greedy. My companion said nothing—just kept laughing. The other reached inside his cloak and pulled out a two-handed steel mace. It was a dangerous weapon but carried no runes or anything. I did not understand how they said he would use magic. Then I saw a shadow moving on the rooftops behind Chapatrueno. I approached silently. There, I saw three warriors belonging to the group already knocked down, carrying blowpipes. A rather ineffective weapon at this distance, but there was no wind, so I supposed they expected their poisoned darts to hit him in the neck and face... was that their magic? It was clear Chapatrueno did not want the magical properties of his armor or his scales discovered. So I approached from behind the ambushers. He did not kill his enemies, but I was not him. The two dwarves fell with their necks cut before they saw what hit them. Below, the scene was even more comical. Now I understood why Chapatrueno was laughing—he knew I was here. He only had one enemy to worry about. I clearly saw the Mediator, deprived of his surprise element—though he did not know why—beginning to retreat. He stammered something about the king's collectors coming and that he had better not keep anything... He insulted him, called him berserker, red. Despite everything, he continued advancing in full retreat. At that moment, Chapatrueno raised his maul. It lit up—the rune was Molten. He shouted:
"I am Chapatrueno of Rocaceleste, the new ruler, and I declare that there will be no more stupid fights! The duels are over! There is more death in our ranks than that caused by the enemy... and you, assessor"—he spat the word—"have just violated this city's law! Here, we do not care about the king!"
At that moment, I saw his hammer fly. The dwarf tried to defend himself with his shield, but it was a piece of bronze trash. The impact tore off his arm, and the heat cauterized it.
"I will keep the weapons and armor—they belong to my people. And as compensation for the trouble your person has caused over the last decades, I will keep your arm... as well as the life of anyone who raises a hand against my people."
I saw the assessor flee. Chapatrueno stood motionless, watching his enemy depart. The other inhabitants peeked out. There was a color in their eyes—the same one we had when the Dark Lord came. It was a gleam of hope. Much to my dismay, my heart skipped a beat at this image.