The late morning sun was already high in the sky above the Great Weald, though one would never know it in the great hall of Baron Ulrek Bathory's keep. The inner quarters of Felboge keep were kept perpetually gloomy, illuminated only by braziers filled only with glowing coals that provided only enough light for the keep's servants and courtiers from stumbling about in darkness. Occasionally, the coals in a brazier would ignite back into healthy and vibrant flames, only for servants to smother the fire back down to dim coals in accordance with Ulrek's wishes. Vampires, being nocturnal beings, were inherently adjusted for dark conditions and typically preferred the gloom. Baron Ulrek strictly maintained low light conditions in his keep not only for his comfort, but to afford him an advantage over any human that might attempt to cross him. The Baron's enemies were numerous, and not all of them were outside the walls of the keep. Should there ever be an attempt on his life, Ulrek wanted to reserve every possible advantage over an assailant.

The Baron sat in solitude upon his throne in the great hall, listening for a long time. Not with his ears, but with his mind. Some vampires could not only hear sounds, but the thoughts of lesser beings. It was a power most vampires had in some capacity, but Ulrek had studied and practiced the technique extensively to the point of being able to eavesdrop on the inner monologues of most of the guards and servants throughout the keep. Most of the thoughts were extremely dull or insipid; precisely the sort of thoughts one might expect of such lowly stock. But of late, Ulrek had read a number of disquieting thoughts from somewhere within his keep. [i]Traitorous[/i] thoughts. A spy or foreign agent lurked somewhere within his keep, but he had so far not been able to determine who it was. Baron Ulrek listened intently once again, his mind listening through the miasma of idiotic thoughts produced by keep's numerous guards and servants with the hope of hearing a snippet of disloyal thought.

[i]What does this miserable cretin want with us?[/i] Ulrek sensed the hateful thought at once, and focused in on it.

[i]The vampire lords haven't spoken to our kind in damn near seven hundred of years, and now we are summoned to their court. By Sturin's Beard, what is going on with them? What's changed now to end centuries of silence?[/i]

[i]Why does it have to be so damned dark in here? Idiots have let all the braziers burn down to coals.[/i]

Dwarves, Ulrek recognized. The delegation from the Felmurg Dwarves had arrived at the keep at last.

Within minutes, a contingent of guards had escorted the dwarves into the great hall before Ulrek Bathory. Five dwarves with bushy beards and manes carefully braided into tight braided locks. Exquisite lamellar cuirasses sat upon their thick shoulders. Though their weapons had been confiscated upon entry into the keep, it would require a brutal fight to take these dwarves down; impressive specimens of their race.

"I'm Bronnig Blacktooth, Emissary of Sturin's Folk of the Felmurg Mountains. We've accepted your invitation to hear the proposition mentioned in your message." Typical dwarven curtness, Ulrek thought to himself.

"And how glad I am that you have," replied Ulrek. "I know your kind does care for idle talk, and so I will be as brief as I can. But I would first like to refresh your memory as to the history of this land."

"No need for that, Baron," Blacktooth growled. "We haven't yet forgotten that these was dwarven lands once upon a time."

"Dwarven lands, taken from you by humans, and then liberated some eight centuries ago by [i]my[/i] kind,"

"Seems vampires have a queer definition of the word 'liberated'. Nary a dwarf that's lived in these lands for a thousand years. The old mines in this land are still closed to us. That's hardly a liberation a dwarf would recognize."

"And what a pity that is," said Ulrek. "A pity, also, that some of the most productive mines in all the land are located in this realm, rich in gold, rubies, mithril... and unfortunately silver. It was only natural that our kind would outlaw the mining of silver throughout the Imperium. But, considering the substantial quantities of wealth purported to remain in some of those ancient dwarven mines, it seems a terrible waste to allow it to sit underground for all eternity."

"What is your proposal, Baron?" Ulrek could see the eyes of the dwarves widen with the very mention of gold and mithril. Dwarven greed was legendary; Ulrek knew they would not be able to resist his offer."

"I wish to offer the dwarves of the Felmurg Mountains access to their ancestral mines in this land. Harvest as much gold, mithril... whatever else you like. But for each pound of gold or mithril mined, you must also mine one pound of silver, and every pound of silver mined belongs to me." Immediately, the dwarves huddled together.

"A pound of silver for a pound of mithril?" One of the dwarves murmured to the others, his voice giddy with excitement. "A pound of mithril is worth 40 of silver!"

"That's a fool's trade!"

"Sturin's Beard, what does a vampire want with silver?"

Bronnig stepped out of the huddle to face Ulrek once again.

"What do you want in return? Besides the silver?"

"I seek an alliance with your people. I want assurances that, if needed, your dwarves will fight alongside my fighting men."

"That's all you want, is it," Asked a suspicious Bronnig, "an alliance with the Imperium?"

"No. With [i]me[/i]."

The dwarves huddled once again, briefly. Their minds were made up remarkably quickly. Ulrek knew no dwarf could resist the promise of such treasures.

"Ulrek Bathory, we Dwarves of Sturin's Folk accept your proposal!"

[hr]

The master chamberlain of Felboge Keep stood on the ramparts, watching the arrival of the the Felmurg Dwarves. It was a historic occasion, for no dwarf had ever been invited to a Bathory court as far as he was aware. But the dwarves were only the most recent in a great number of strange visitors the Baron had been requesting since the return from the Capital. But no request was quite as unusual as the letter he had read addressed to one Solomon Kane.

A flicker of movement in the skies above drew the chamberlain's attention from the dwarves making their way over the drawbridge. A large bird circled in the sky just above the keep. A hawk? Could it be? The chamberlain squinted his eyes and picked out the white wingtips on the bird's silhouette. It was Edward Bathory's hawk!

The chamberlain scrambled and went immediately to a nearby refuse pile collected from the sweepings of the servants. A few moments of frantically sifting through the old coals and dust yielded exactly what he was looking for: a dead rat. The chamberlain went back over to the battlements, patted the excess soot of the recently-deceased vermin, and laid it upon a battlement where he hoped the hawk would see. Several moments passed before the hawk finally swooped down over the chamberlain's head and perched itself upon the battlement. As the bird began to pick at the limbs of the dead rat, the chamberlain realized he would not have much time to act and immediately set about looking for anything to make a brief note out of. Looking around his immediate surroundings, he took a piece of charcoal from the debris pile, but could not think of something to write on. He briefly considered running inside the keep to fetch some vellum from his study, but Edward's hawk would certainly have flown off by then. It was at that moment that a breeze off of the moor set the flayed skins hanging off the ramparts fluttering and crinkling again, giving the chamberlain another idea.

He reached over the battlements of the ramparts and seized the tattered remains of some unfortunate prisoner's arm. The chamberlain tore off a leathery piece of thumb skin from the flayed hide and with the charcoal scrawled the most detailed message to Edward as was possible given the limitations of time and the medium he had to work with.

[i]KANE COMING, BEWARE ULREK[/i]

The chamberlain tore a length of loose thread from his robe, tightly rolled his crude message, and managed to tie it to the right leg of the hawk - already tame and too busy peeling the rat's innards from its open belly to be bothered by the message being affixed to its body. Satisfied that the message was secure, the chamberlain discarded the rat carcass into the debris pile and shooed the hawk back into the sky. It would take only a rain or a heavy mist to moisten the charcoal and render the message illegible, but the chamberlain remained hopeful that the hawk would return to its master shortly so that Lord Edward could know his brother's malign intentions.