“Denied!” the mercenary dwarf shouted. “Try again in a month.”

It was common for walls and gates to surround a city’s domain, but Dallion had never seen a city so cocooned by stone and metal before. Located smack in the middle of a mountain peak, the city of Vert was only accessible through wide passageways blocked by metal gates several feet thick. Only dwarves had the ability to mold metal by touch and pass through. Everyone else needed special permission from the tunnel guards.

Large open areas in the mountains served as gathering points for caravans, mercenaries, and anyone else coming to do business with the city. Dallion had entered one of them easily thanks to his hunter’s emblem. Continuing to the city itself, though, proved not as easy. It seemed that because of the war even hunters were no longer welcome, not human ones, in any event.

“I have money,” he said. “I just wish to buy something.”

“Good for you,” the guard grumbled. “Next!”

It was obvious that there was no “next”. Dallion had been the only one trying to gain entry. Everyone else either had legitimate business with someone of importance in the city, or knew better than to try.

One single spell and Dallion could easily pass through the wall, with or without permission. However, that was going to reveal Dallion to everyone in the vicinity. Worse than all, there was clear evidence that there was at least one other mage around. He had managed to get a glimpse of magic symbols on a few of the city buildings through the small window the guard had opened. It was impossible to tell who the original creator of the symbols was, although there was no question regarding their function: spy markers. Through them, a mage could observe distant locations, similar to what cameras allowed on Earth.

The intensity of the glow suggested that the symbols were brand new—a month at most—suggesting the mage was still here. It couldn’t be Adzorg—the old man was too careful to leave such obvious clues behind. But that wasn’t the only person Dallion had to be cautious of.

“How about you tell me what it would take to get in?” Dallion was losing his patience.

“’ow about you take that disfocus item off?” the dwarf countered.

Using music skills to convince him remained an option, but not one Dallion was willing to resort to just yet.

“I have forging skills. I can shape special metals.”

“Everyone ‘as forging skills. What else will you show off? Dancing?” The dwarf crossed his arms.

“Excuse me, sergeant,” another dwarf interrupted.

Subtly splitting into instances, Dallion peeked through the opening to see a rather stout dwarf approach. He was well rounded, far more so than the guard, wearing a set of flawless white clothes. Most importantly, the symbol of the Order of the Seven Moons was visible, embroidered on his short cape.

The guard instantly stood to attention.

“This one’s ‘ere on a pilgrimage at our request,” the dwarf of the Order continued. “Would you mind?”

“Yes, Bishop,” the guard replied tensely. “I understand, but prince Chat gave strict orders—”

“The prince doesn’t rule over the kingdom yet. Until ‘e does, if ‘e ‘as anything against my decision, ‘e knows where to find me.”

Even after everything he’d been subjected to, Dallion couldn’t help but feel pity for the guard. Right now, he had been put in the unenviable position of becoming an involuntary intermediary between two people of power. While there was no way to be certain whether the prince wasn’t a noble in name only, he was the son of the ruler, and as for The bishop—like everyone else in the Order, he had more power than people thought.

“Will you make an opening or must I?” The bishop’s tone hardened.

The unfortunate guard immediately turned towards the metal door and stuck his hands in it. They passed through the thick sheet of metal as if it were clay, then continued sideways, forming a small opening.

Just like pulling curtains, Dallion thought. He could see the magic threads passing through the dwarf’s fingers and affecting the metal. Another time he would have even paused to admire it, but right now he had pressing matters to take care of.

Lowering his head, he stepped through, moving next to the bishop.

“Bishop,” he said with a slight bow.

“Initiate,” the other said in return. “Come along. Let’s not keep the sergeant from his job.”

The unfortunate guard brought back his hands together, causing the temporary opening to close. Judging by the anger and bitterness emanating from him, if another outsider would never enter the capital, it would be too soon.

“You should be more careful,” the bishop whispered as they walked towards one of the tunnel openings leading underground. “If the Archbishop ‘adn’t warned me, you’d never ‘ave been allowed inside.”

“I’m grateful.”

It was rather kind of the archbishop to get personally involved, especially since Dallion hadn’t mentioned where he’d be going. One could always assume that the General had shared the information for a price, but that seemed unlikely. The Order probably had its own ways of keeping track, just as they had the means of instant communication between each other. When people looked at a shrine, they saw a place at which they could increase their level for a minor fee. As Dallion had learned, the shrines were a lot more. The closest comparison he could make was a cross between an army barracks and a cell tower.

A squad of dwarf guards glared at Dallion as he followed the bishop underground. They couldn’t afford to say a thing, but made sure to let their displeasure known through other means.

“How far down are we going?” Dallion asked.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“We’re staying at this level. The clerics’ quarters are a suitable enough place for a conversation.”

So now they were going to have a conversation? That didn’t bode well.

“Is it related to my pilgrimage?” he asked.

“Only you’ll be able to answer that.”

The underground shrine was a large cylindrical structure of white stone that shot up all the way to the cavern’s ceiling. There were four main entrances, though only one of them was adorned with marble statues.

A pair of clerics quickly opened the double door as the bishop approached, then closed it once he and his guest had entered. One look was enough for Dallion to tell that despite the simple robes, both were level forty awakened.

“There ‘ave been a number of developments since you left Nerosal,” the bishop said, rushing down the corridor. “You’ve seen the gleams, yes?”

“Yes. There was one in the distance on my way here.”

“It’s more than one. Lately, the sightings ‘ave been increasing. The Archbishop suspects that they are moving towards the capital.”

“I have similar suspicions. That’s why I came here.”

“You think the mage is ‘ere?” The bishop stopped, his face turning three shades paler.

“Maybe, maybe not. In any event, if he isn’t, he soon will be. How deep are your connections in the city?”

“I’ve been bishop here for seventy years,” the dwarf said proudly. “I knew the king before he took the throne.” He gestured forward, indicating that it was better that they leave the important part of the conversation for there.

I really don’t have the time for this. Dallion played around with his blocker ring. Having it on for so long made him feel cut off from the world. If Nil was still here, he’d probably say that was a good thing, since it meant he was getting back to being his former self.

To Dallion’s surprise, the room to which the bishop took him turned out to be an altar room. Unlike the usual ones he’d seen in the past, though, there was no crowd of people waiting to get there. In fact, the room resembled more a storage space than anything else. If it weren’t for the light emanating from the altar itself, one would have believed it to be exactly that.

“Now we can be certain that no one’s watching in.” The bishop closed the door. “Other than the Moons, of course.”

“Of course. So, what did you wish to talk about?”

“The Archbishop ‘as ‘ad a new prophecy. ‘e requests that you don’t take part in the war.”

“That will be difficult.”

“The war for the towers,” the dwarf added.

“War for the towers?” What the heck was that?

“Vortex towers will start rising throughout the battlefield. As a result, all three sides will clash to obtain as much of their magic as possible. You are not to take part.”

“That’s asking too much.”

“The Archbishop said that it’s your choice to make, but if you take part, you risk losing both things you’re fighting for.”

Vague, but not vague enough. Dallion smiled. It was obvious that the Archbishop was trying to copy the Moon’s style and failed at it. He sounded too focused on smaller things. If there was anyone he could be compared to it was Alien. The only difference was that the threats were more subtle.

“Any chance I can have a word with him face to face?” Dallion slid his fingers along the altar.

“No one sees the Archbishop, not even me.”

“I heard differently.”

“The Archbishop sees whoever he wants. Anyway, I fulfilled his request. It’s up to you what to do from ‘ere on. Personally, I’d say listen to ‘im. The Archbishop has been granted prophetic vision by the Moons.”

More like carnival tricks, Dallion said to himself. “I’ll take it into consideration. Now, about my request. Do you know anyone dealing with antiquities?”

The bishop’s eyes widened.

“Specifically, artifact statues.”

“You’re looking for a statue in a city of dwarves?”

“Artifact statue,” Dallion stressed. “It’s large, larger than me, and was very sought after around the time the poison plague appeared.”

“Then you’ll be asking for an invitation to the royal treasury. Alor’s royal family ‘as an extensive collection of—”

“Anywhere else?” Dallion interrupted.

The dwarf frowned and crossed his arms. “You know I’m a bishop of the Order, right?”

“Yep, I also know you have a good sense of humor.” Thank you, music skills. “I’m already working for the Order and this is one of the thing’s I’ll need to complete my task. The place I’m looking for can’t be a royal palace, or part of the Order. I’m almost sure it’s something illegal, possibly small-time.”

The comments brought a smile to the bishop’s face. Stroking his beard, he nodded.

“What if it’s above ground?”

“Possible, but unlikely. If it were that simple, it would have been taken already.”

“There are a few people at the merchants’ quarter on level three. Some of the items there were of questionable repute. A lot changed after the city was closed off. There’s no guarantee what you want is still there.”

“It’s a start. Can you arrange an introduction?”

“I can do better. I can ‘ave one of the merchants of the quarter guide you there personally.”

Given that dwarves were often prone to exaggerations, Dallion thought that the bishop would ask a stall seller to show him around that section of the city. It turned out that he was very much mistaken. Following some philosophical discussions about the state of the world—which Dallion could have done without—he was escorted out of the shrine, where a richly dressed dwarf was waiting. The gems that composed the fabric of his clothes were such that he could pass for a minor noble in the empire.

“Are you the initiate?” The merchant’s mustaches twitched as he spoke. Unlike the majority of dwarves Dallion had seen so far, this one was exceptionally well groomed to the point that his beard and mustaches were not only trimmed, but waxed as well.

“Yes.”

“I’m Amille Darge, the under-banker of the third level merchant quarter.”

“Under-banker? Is that something like a mayor?”

“No.” The dwarf gave Dallion a look full of disdain. “That would be the banker. Let’s get this over with.”

There was a time when Dallion would have cared about making a good first impression. As Nil used to say, there’s no fixing a first impression. After a few years in the world, it had become apparent that the saying was only partially true. Only those who wanted to impress had to worry about first impressions. Those who had to be impressed couldn’t care less.

“Lead the way.”

It was said that all dwarf cities followed the same basic principles: the deeper one went, the more affluent the inhabitants became. In this case, the merchants Dallion was going to visit could be considered lower-middle class.

“Several people deal with statues,” the merchant explained. “Even when artifact statues are concerned. ‘ow will you know which one you need?”

“Just get me close and I’ll deal with the rest.”

“Suit yourself.”

Dallion smirked, then slid off his blocker ring. The moment he did, a chorus of Harp’s voice filled his head.

Draw me! He’s here!

“Slow down, what—”

There was no need to finish. Less than a hundred feet away, engaged in a discussion with the owner of an artifact merchant, stood the only other human in the city.

“Adzorg,” Dallion whispered.

Barely had he done so when a column of purple light suddenly erupted from below, enveloping half the merchants’ quarter, then went on to drill through all the upper layers until it revealed the sky.