(Page 1 of 3) Brunengang's Mistake by Grace Fleming
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SUMMARY: excerpt from "THE LOST TALES OF FAERPHILLY: THE TRAVELS OF FIERE" by the Unnamed Poet
(now available online)It is common knowledge that one can never ask for a truer, more loyal character than a dwarf -- a race of spirit kin that lord over the unpassable mountains on the three sides of Faerphilly. A dwarf is half the size of a man, yet equal to him in weight. Truth to say, they are closer in blood to men than to spirits. They are highly intelligent and know more about the composition of the earth than any other race. A man never feels like a stranger in the company of dwarves. They are sturdy, reliable, and trustworthy. That is for all, except Brunengang.
Brunengang was a lying, thieving, contemptuous, scoundrel. When he was born, it is said, he was born backwards, because he did not want to leave his mother's womb. Once out, he immediately gave his mother and father a wicked eye, took one look around his modest home, and announced that he could have found better accommodations beneath his left toenail. That is how it has been with Brunengang ever since.
None can account for the existence of such a creature as he. However, this was during the time we know as the Dead Ages. It was a time when unwarranted malice, discontent, and indifference had spread throughout Faerphilly like a silent plague. They called this plague 'the deadness,' because all men who succumb to it are as uncaring and unaffected as the dead. Even before the War of the Endless Sea, the deadness had seeped down from somewhere in the north. Yet, because it could not be traced to any foe, no man could raise an arm against it. So the deadness crept unhindered across the western mountains and into the womb of Brunengang's mother, or so the legend goes.
Brunengang's tribe was that of the Genghrills, who live deep inside Grandfather Gold Mountain. They enjoy nothing so much as to dig, and they do so with the utmost care, repairing the mountain wherever they injure her. Gold is what they dig for in the western mountains; gold like the brooches in the women's hair and gold like the torcs on the men's necks. It is said that the Golden City of the Westernes was built of Genghrill gold, and I can hardly find a falsehood in this, considering that there exists no other source for the metal in all of Faerphilly. It is most precious to them, and not one nugget ever goes astray in a dwarf's hands. All of the takings of the mountain are stored in the Genghrill's secret mountain cave, and is taken out only on the rare occasions when it becomes necessary to barter with neighboring races. When that time comes, they press the gold into coins, called "stags", which makes it exceedingly simpler to count and barter. Their accounting is impeccable, and if there ever should be as much as one stag more or one stag less of gold then there ought to be, the dwarves would know. Just as they would never cheat another of his belongings, so would they never allow themselves to be cheated.
I once had the pleasure of visiting their tribe during my travels. Never have I been anywhere so hospitable. They are a merry people. All the women are lovely and kind; all the men are stalwart and true.
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