him—anyone but her. He glanced back. Hundreds of dwarves followed behind, praying, singing, and crying as they went.
Skemtun breathed deeply. The air from the surrounding forest was warm and carried a soft perfume from blooming flowers. There weren’t any clouds in the sky, so it was hot, and Skemtun was wearing thick clothing. Compared to the relative cool of the dwarf caverns, it felt unpleasantly warm outside.
Skemtun pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat off his brow. He hoped the procession would move faster. The prayers had taken a long time. If they stayed out in this heat much longer, they might need to hold a few more funerals. He wasn’t the only one who was uncomfortable, either.
Sweat trickled from the brows of many of the mourners. Fanning her chubby face with her hand, Bolrakei looked ready to collapse.
There were thousands of willow buds floating in the air. It seemed like an odd time of year for it, so Skemtun couldn’t tell if the falling blossoms were natural or something that the spellcasters had added to the ceremony. The tiny white buds made many of the dwarves sneeze as they fell like snow upon the crowd.
The mourners made their way up the rocky track that circled the mountain. Skemtun huffed, sweating more profusely as they began their steady climb up the mountainside. The procession would climb upward toward the caldera; the trek would take several hours and would end at sunset.
A double row of oil torches lined the edges of the path. The torches would be lit after sundown, when the procession made its way back down the mountain.
Skemtun walked on. The trail began to get rougher, and he noticed that people were starting to stumble. Everyone was hot and tired. As they ascended higher up the mountain, the path was partially broken away, and people had to squish together to pass. Debris from the mountain-side collected at the shoulder, narrowing the path. The march slowed.
Bolrakei started to curse under her breath.
There were holes and missing pavestones everywhere. The road was overgrown with weeds in some places. In the worst spots, a wood panel had to be placed underneath the carriage wheels so the wagon could continue moving forward. The roads had been neglected and had become more and more dangerous with time, but the problem had been relatively easy to ignore ... until now.
It was another reminder of the work that went undone after the Vardmiters left. They were the road builders, and maintenance was neglected now that they were gone. The procession moved slower and slower until finally the carriage came to a dead stop, unable to move because of a boulder that had materialized in the middle of the path.
The attendants hurried up the trail, looking for a way around the obstacle.
But that wasn’t enough for Bolrakei, who was by now completely incensed. She shouted and cursed. “Why wasn’t this road cleared before the procession began?”
Skemtun tried to ignore her outburst. This was a funeral, after all. It wasn’t an appropriate place for a squabble. But soon other dwarves began arguing as well. Somehow it exploded into a shouting match of escalating curses. The band stopped playing. Children were screaming, irritated by the heat and the noise.
Skemtun looked back and locked eyes with Kathir, who was standing several steps behind him in the crowd. They were both thinking the same thing. The ceremony was a disaster. A funeral shouldn’t be like this. If this goes on much longer, there’s going to be a riot.
Bolrakei kept screaming, “Why wasn’t this taken care of yesterday? How are we supposed to move forward? This is outrageous!” Then she pointed an accusing finger at Skemtun. “ You should have fixed this!”
“It’s not my responsibility to clean up the roads!” Skemtun said angrily.
“Then whose responsibility is it?” she screeched back. “No one ever told me that the roads needed clearing.”
“That’s a good question,” Skemtun
Skemtun breathed deeply. The air from the surrounding forest was warm and carried a soft perfume from blooming flowers. There weren’t any clouds in the sky, so it was hot, and Skemtun was wearing thick clothing. Compared to the relative cool of the dwarf caverns, it felt unpleasantly warm outside.
Skemtun pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat off his brow. He hoped the procession would move faster. The prayers had taken a long time. If they stayed out in this heat much longer, they might need to hold a few more funerals. He wasn’t the only one who was uncomfortable, either.
Sweat trickled from the brows of many of the mourners. Fanning her chubby face with her hand, Bolrakei looked ready to collapse.
There were thousands of willow buds floating in the air. It seemed like an odd time of year for it, so Skemtun couldn’t tell if the falling blossoms were natural or something that the spellcasters had added to the ceremony. The tiny white buds made many of the dwarves sneeze as they fell like snow upon the crowd.
The mourners made their way up the rocky track that circled the mountain. Skemtun huffed, sweating more profusely as they began their steady climb up the mountainside. The procession would climb upward toward the caldera; the trek would take several hours and would end at sunset.
A double row of oil torches lined the edges of the path. The torches would be lit after sundown, when the procession made its way back down the mountain.
Skemtun walked on. The trail began to get rougher, and he noticed that people were starting to stumble. Everyone was hot and tired. As they ascended higher up the mountain, the path was partially broken away, and people had to squish together to pass. Debris from the mountain-side collected at the shoulder, narrowing the path. The march slowed.
Bolrakei started to curse under her breath.
There were holes and missing pavestones everywhere. The road was overgrown with weeds in some places. In the worst spots, a wood panel had to be placed underneath the carriage wheels so the wagon could continue moving forward. The roads had been neglected and had become more and more dangerous with time, but the problem had been relatively easy to ignore ... until now.
It was another reminder of the work that went undone after the Vardmiters left. They were the road builders, and maintenance was neglected now that they were gone. The procession moved slower and slower until finally the carriage came to a dead stop, unable to move because of a boulder that had materialized in the middle of the path.
The attendants hurried up the trail, looking for a way around the obstacle.
But that wasn’t enough for Bolrakei, who was by now completely incensed. She shouted and cursed. “Why wasn’t this road cleared before the procession began?”
Skemtun tried to ignore her outburst. This was a funeral, after all. It wasn’t an appropriate place for a squabble. But soon other dwarves began arguing as well. Somehow it exploded into a shouting match of escalating curses. The band stopped playing. Children were screaming, irritated by the heat and the noise.
Skemtun looked back and locked eyes with Kathir, who was standing several steps behind him in the crowd. They were both thinking the same thing. The ceremony was a disaster. A funeral shouldn’t be like this. If this goes on much longer, there’s going to be a riot.
Bolrakei kept screaming, “Why wasn’t this taken care of yesterday? How are we supposed to move forward? This is outrageous!” Then she pointed an accusing finger at Skemtun. “ You should have fixed this!”
“It’s not my responsibility to clean up the roads!” Skemtun said angrily.
“Then whose responsibility is it?” she screeched back. “No one ever told me that the roads needed clearing.”
“That’s a good question,” Skemtun
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