“a descent,” as in a falling place or a downslope. In the vocative, it was pronounced “lhargagh,” but such a formal declination implied a label or title. And the ancient, rare suffix of “-næ” or “-æ” was for a proper noun, both plural and singular.
She knew the letters and vubrí for the Bäynæ, the Eternals. That reference had appeared often in passages she had scanned. Strangely, she didn’t remember ever spotting “Lhärgnæ” written out in plain letters. But its vubrí seemed akin to the one for the Bäynæ.
“Lhärgnæ” . . . the Fallen Ones?
She scanned several more lines, and the obscure vubrí appeared again, this time in a sentence that also mentioned the Eternals. She traced back along engraved letters, reading more slowly.
Our Eternal ancestors exalt our virtues over our vices, and shield us against the . . . Lhärgnæ.
Wynn paused in thought. She knew some dwarven “virtues,” such as integrity, courage, pragmatism, and achievement. There were also thrift, charity for those in need, and championship of the innocent and defenseless. The possible vices might be counterpoints to these, at least in part.
Dwarves believed that their Eternals were part of the spiritual side of this world. They were not removed from it, to be called upon in another realm, as with the elves, nor sent to an afterlife, like most human religions taught. The Bäynæ were the revered ancestors of their race as a whole. Their presence was thought strongest wherever dwarves gathered in great numbers. They were believed to be always with their people, wherever they went.
So what place did these Lhärgnæ—these Fallen Ones—hold in the dwarves’ spiritual worldview?
She sidestepped along the wall, scanning for more occurrences of the rare vubrí. Near the wall’s bottom, it was couched in a phrase with the terms “aghlédaks” and “brahderaks”—cowardice and treachery. The rest of the sentence held too many older characters she didn’t know.
Wynn straightened up, sighing in frustration.
She’d expected this to be easier. She was a sage, after all, and spoke a half dozen languages or dialects fluently and others in part. She could read even more. When she turned about, Shade lay at the wall’s far end, her head on her paws, silently watching Wynn.
This was all quite boring to Shade.
For an instant, Wynn wished she had Chap here instead. His counsel had helped her choose the texts to bring home from Li’kän’s ice-bound castle.
Her gaze drifted to an oddity on the next partition’s front. These columns of text were framed in engraved scrollwork. Curiosity pulled her to them.
She read a few random lines with little effort, for it was written in contemporary Dwarvish characters. The text appeared to be a story. A way down the column, she found one familiar vubrí—Bedzâ’kenge, the poet Eternal. Another vubrí was mixed in the text closer to the first column’s top.
Wynn settled on the bench, working out its patterned strokes.
“Sundaks”—avarice.
But the context implied more. It should be in the vocative case as well, like a title or a name pronounced in formal fashion—Shundagh.
Wynn lifted her eyes to the story’s beginning.
A fine family of renowned masons lived in a small but proud seatt of only one clan and one tribe among the Rughìr.
She faltered before remembering something Domin High-Tower had mentioned. “Rughìr” was a common truncation for “Rughìr’thai’âch”—the Earth-Born—how the dwarves referred to their own kind.
Anxious to serve their people, the family’s sons and daughters sought to become merchants as well. They hoped to have more to offer—and to gain—by way of trade as well as skills plied. But over many years, all members passed into earth or went away, until only one son remained.
Wynn came to the new vubrí formed like a title: Shundagh . . .
Avarice . . . as the last of his line, inherited all that his family had acquired—but he had lost his love of masonry or the way of honorable barter.
At first, he grudgingly plied his skills, but not in fair exchange for returned services or goods. Nor did he trade in worthy metals, such as iron, copper, forged steel, or even brass. He took payment only in foreign coin of silver and gold or in pristine gemstones. Soon he abandoned service altogether, selling off what remained of family wares and tools.
Avarice no longer bartered.
He purchased all he desired, always in gold, silver, and gems, but offered only meager amounts to those in dire need who must accept his set price. Through trickery and profiteering, he amassed a fortune from his fellows. The people became gray and