“They will die. You know that.” It was statement, not a question. A woman, the most powerful witch known this part of the world in fact, slammed lazily her right black shoe onto The Footstool of Gardamosh. “Evenin, my minister girl” the words were delivered with an old woman’s voice, a very old woman’s voice, “you’ve always known that it was going to happen. Wintershield Stronghold was a stupid idea, it’s still a stupid idea, and tomorrow... surprise! It will be a stupid idea. The dwarves of this city just can’t realize it. They’re too stubborn. Too proud. Wintershield is an outpost among rocks. Burried underneath snow 11 out of 13 months of the year. It has no material value to anyone. I’m sure those dungeon lords have only let it continue to exist so far, because they too realize: it has zero strategic value; it’s completely pointless.”

“I know.” The dwarven envoy to Ermos sighed, her eyes wandering over to look at Irridiklara’s black rubber-and-cotton shoe. The 2 of them were sitting in Irrid’s spacious office at Flip. Behind Evenin, Snowman lay on the room’s richly decorated and soft carpet, quietly snoozing under the slightly orange magical light of a chandelier above. “Someone ought to tell them. And it’s not my responsibility. I’m an envoy of foreign states...” Her face was lightly exasperation. “They agreed to put together another batch of reinforcements.”

Irrid shook her head, then slammed the left black shoe also onto the mythical Footstool, making a pair of resting feet. “There’s a reason I don’t bother with politics.”

“Because you can’t handle people?” Evenin produced a very small smile as she met the wrinkled eyes of the unnaturally old human.

“No” Irrid responded, her face humorless. Then she steered her eyes away, as if wanting to escape Evenin’s accusative eyes. “It’s because in politics, in houses of people too full of themselves, they always end up making stupid decisions like this. And I can’t stand it!” She almost sneered the last words.

The witch was looking at the stool with its 4 wooden humanlike feet. Evenin moved her own eyes back to look at it too. “Don’t the faculty mages object to you using a mythical artifact for your feet?”

“They’re currently not in need of it” Irrid responded, without veering her gaze. “Shame to let it go to waste. And my feet are in dire need. Also, after all: what are artifacts for, if not to be used?”

“Do you use it to travel?” Evenin prodded.

“Only when conversations are boring.”

Am I boring? Evenin suddenly wondered, suspicious. She looked at Irrid’s face, still resting its gaze on the stool. “You’re not travelling somewhere right now, are you? I thought people would have to be half-way asleep to use it. But knowing your abilities and knowledge, you’d probably find a way to make that restriction a mere suggestion.”

Irrid closed her eyes, and for a few seconds, Evenin was unsure if the silence was meant to confirm her suspicions. “The white bear” the witch eventually spoke, pulling the envoy out of her mind’s speculations, “where did you get it?”

“Snowman?” Evenin turned around to look at the 600kg pile of deadly fur, so at peace there on the carpet, he could’ve been a permanent art installation. “It was a gift. A merchant of The Nove Republic, one of our northern-most states, if you don’t know it. The merchant gave me Snowman while he was still just a little bear cub.”

“That’s no cub anymore” Irridiklara stated, looking Snowman over by moving her left eye only.

“I’ve had him for 6 years” Evenin said, smiling as she looked over at her furry friend.

“Hmpf” Irrid blurted. “So you did eventually get yourself a man. Just not the type I expected.”

Evenin looked back and raised an eyebrow. “Are you, Irridklara The Witch, interested in my love life?”

“Not at all. Just... observing.” The witch spoke the last word slowly. “I’ve known you for a long time, now, Evenin of Redratall. When we first met, I was already an old woman. You were a young woman. Quite young indeed, for a dwarf. Now, you are just starting to become an old dwarven woman, and me, I’m an even older human woman. To have known you for most of your life, for a hundred years... what can I say. It’s surprising you never became a mother. I felt like you had the personality for it. You are awfully caring for a politician.”

“But I did become a mother!” Evenin smiled back. “I’m the Mother of The City, haven’t you heard?”

Evenin thought she could barely see a smile on the old witch’s face, or at least a slight residing of her constant sour look. Evenin pressed the matter, “and so are you, kind-of, aren’t you? 2nd Mother of The City?”

Irridiklara turned her full gaze towards Evenin and stared with inquiring intensity. “What are you on about? What do I have to do with the making of this city?”

“You made this university” Evenin shrugged, “it’s basically the main attraction of the city. Your building is the main reason people flocked to live here.”

“I didn’t build it” Irrid retorted, looking sour as always.

“But if anyone owns it, it’s basically you” Evenin insisted. “And you named it.”

“Did not!”

“You did. When you took my words literally. When I said you could turn the whole thing upside down as long as you taught mages, and protected the city from the worst of the worst. Well, are we sitting upside down, or are we not?” Evenin’s smile was broad now.

At least one of Irridiklara’s cheeks managed to stretch a muscle. Just enough to let go of that sour expression of yours, Evenin detected. For a few seconds neither of them said anything. Evenin let her gaze wander back to the Footstool while Irridiklara tried to hide a mental dive into nostalgia.

“Your left sock” Evenin suddenly blurted, “it’s different from your right sock?” Evenin blinked. No, I’m not seeing wrong. She has one ankle-long, flashy red sock on her left foot, and one black sock on her right, reaching up near her kneecap.

“Yes, it is” the witch admitted, a strange look on her face, almost as if she’d expected someone to notice.

“It seems an odd question to ask” Evenin said, her tone a little careful, “but may I ask: why the fashion choice? You’ve never been one for colors.”

“I didn’t choose it for the look.” The older responded matter-of-factly. “I chose it for its properties.”

“Properties?” An eyebrow went up.

“That, minister girl” she pointed with her face at the footwear, “is The Left Sock of Infinite Dryness.”

“Is that an artifact?”

“A celestial artifact. Don’t tell the other mages I have it. The whole building went up in an uproar when I snatched it, secretly, from the washerman. They now think he stole it and sold it. They’d harass my ears for weeks if they ever find out it was me.”

Evenin shook her head in disbelief. “Shouldn’t you let the mages study the artifacts?”

“They still got The Right Sock of Infinite Dryness” the witched retorted, “for now... Besides, it’s much better with me. You know this thing cannot be destroyed. It’s practically indestructible for anyone but a god. Worse, its name is literal. Anyone drop this sock into a lake, and the lake’ll be dry in a few weeks. Now, anyone drop it in an ocean? Expect climate change. This sock is dangerous alone. The 2 of them together? That’s a weapon of mass humidification. No, they’re best here with me. Also, their level of comfort is literally diiiviiine.” The old human gave Evenin an expression of comfort that temporarily erased every sour wrinkle on the oldie’s face.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The dwarf stared over at the sock, and then at Irrid’s eyes-closed expression of serenity. She let a silence go on for about half a minute, then changed the topic. “What level are you now?”

“Huh?” The witch opened exactly one eye fully, the other eye struggling to stay shut, clearly wanting to dose off.

“If the artifact is so safe with you, it would be reassuring to know your new level, would it not? You must’ve leveled up some since your approximate level was last leaked to me, 50 years ago.”

“Not telling” Irrid closed both her eyes fully.

“But I think it would only be fair to know the power by which the magical treasures of this land is guarded. And don’t you feel just a little, tiny bit urge to share your achievements with someone? With an old friend? Must be lonely to be the only one to know your true power. Irrid, would it not be nice to have peers, someone to talk to about your accomplishments?”

Irrid’s one eye opened again, but for at least a couple seconds, she just sat there, silent, staring with her one eye. “You don’t ask a woman her level!” The older woman opened her other eye, and intensified her stare. “How much have you invested in your charisma? You almost made me want to tell you there, for a moment.”

Evenin smiled. “You don’t ask a woman her attributes...”

Irrid rolled her eyes. Then abruptly shut out an arm and glided it through the air between them, producing a fast glimmering blue light in her palm that Evenin could see. The envoy was caught a bit off guard at first, but upon quick realization, sighed deeply and shook her head.

“669 points of wisdom and luck! Oh gods, you really doubled down on your career choice.” Irrid had a blank look on her face, as if looking at something inside her mind. My character statistics, Evenin made another, smaller sigh. “That constitution though, you’re very assassinable.” Irrid’s blank look went away, and she went back to staring Evenin right in the eyes, before giving a nod to the creature behind the dwarf. “I suspect that’s why you got yourself that giant beast of yours. To make up for it. His constitution must be exceedingly high. And you trust him to keep you alive? He can’t do much against a spell. And your enemies wield some powerful magic.”

“I trust him, and, I know.” Evenin admitted. “But these might.” She raised a hand to touch her own braids, searching and finding 1 of her silver pins.

“Of course. You hide your magic items in your hair. Unorthodox, but clever. Explains why I could sense enchantments about your head. Was getting worried you’d gotten one of those tattoo enchantments, those’ve been getting too popular as of late.”

“Popular?” Evenin raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. Many sons, daughters, bodyguards, the like, of the nobility and merchants I’m forced to interact with. I’ve seen more and more of them wearing those body enchantments over the years. Not as removable as a ring. But those people see that as a bonus. I prefer the flexible solution. But there’s supposed to be one very good tattoo enchanter in Southwall.” Irrid looked out into the blue. “Makes some powerful enchantments.” She tapped a finger at the side of her chin. “I’ve neglected to give that man a scholarly visit. But, maybe...” she tapped again in thought, “when he improves some more.”

With the witch gazing into nowhere, Evenin decided to change the topic again, as she just remembered something she genuinely wanted to talk with the witch about. “So, you too heard about the dungeon lord activity in The Iron City?”

Irrid turned her face slowly back to Evenin. “The dungeon lords? You think so?”

“Who else would it be?” Evenin replied, surprised at Irrid’s question.

“These latest acts do not fit the mark of a clever dungeon lord.” Irrid went back to looking into the blue. “And a dungeon lord who affords herself to waste resources on useless missions like these? She would not be a long-lived dungeon lord.”

“Got away though” the envoy pointed out, “so must be good.”

“Or the gnomes are easily fooled.”

Neither of them said anything for several seconds. Instead, they just sat there, still, each in their own thoughts. Evenin looked a little over at Irrid, while Irrid looked at the empty wall ahead of her, behind the Footstool at the side of her desk.

“But shouldn’t you be interested?” The dwarf woman eventually broke the silence. “Given our deal?”

Irrid’s eyes slid quickly over towards Evenin. “IF there’s a big attack: I will act. I still hold true to our bargain. But it was for when the people need me – truly need me. These incidents do not require my attention.” The witch’s eyes slid back to look at the wall. “For now, these are trivial matters.”

“But they might not end up trivial matters.” Evenin said quietly, trying to push without being pushy.

“The Iron City has Shoss. She can take care of her own. She’s more powerful than nearly any of the university mages, and vastly more experienced in matters of war. They won’t need me. But if they do – then I’ll come.” The witch turned to look Evenin directly in the eye. “Satisfied?”

“I suppose.” Evenin produced a face of concession.

Irrid went back to looking at her Footstool.

“What do you think about the findings of The... eh... Research Department... for Relations... Between The Gods and The Peoples. I think that’s what you call them.”

Irrid looked at Evenin again. “They told you about that, did they? About classes?”

“Yes.” Irrid nodded. “What do you think? Is it as exciting as they make it out to be?”

And the witch went back to look at her Footstool. “Classes, yeah. Heh. Well, they’re not wrong, if that’s what you’re afraid of. Classes are real.”

“You know your classes?” Evenin shot in.

“Yes” Irrid sounded almost annoyed to answer.

“What classes do you have?” Evenin face turned all excitement.

“I have 12 classes, and I qualify for class trainer in 11 of them. But” she shook her head, and leaned over her desk, looking Evenin straight in the eye, “I won’t tell you any of them.” Barely, just barely, Evenin detected a smirk. A little sadistic smile, the dwarf translated for herself.

“Well, a response I should’ve guessed” she retorted, and waited a moment, “hmpf. You never have anything to say about yourself. Not unless others can already plainly see the truth themselves. Can you at least tell me if I should pay attention to classes? Is it worth finding out about?”

“Hmm” Irrid folded her hands together, as if contemplating. “Depends. I don’t know. Because I don’t know what powers you’ll find. But I’ll make you a promise” she raised a finger, “if you find out 1 of your unique new abilities and tell it to me, I will offer you 1, single, fair, hint. And then maybe, you will guess” the human paused for effect: “1, of my classes.” A little barely noticeable smirk.

Evenin did not respond for a few seconds. “I must say” she said, “I almost hope somebody will come along and steal your socks, straight from your feet, because you, Irrid, are one greedy witch.”

The witch’s smirk became more noticeable. But, the moment passing, the witch leaned back again, into her chair, her face changing. “You think so, eh? Well, is your little ability of power level 142, as valuable an information as my... ooops, nearly spoiled my power level there. You and your charisma.” Irrid shook her head. “You’re almost dangerous with that. Well, as powerful as me, I should say. Someone vastly above you. Would you say that’s a fair exchange of information?”

“We are on the same team, Irridiklara. You don’t have to treat this as a bargain. We are friends. At least I think so. And friends share.”

“Hmmm” Irrid’s mouth reacted. “Not that good friends. I don’t think so. And call me psychologically biased, but I think magic is a little more impressive than your speechcraft and social manoeuvers. A little more worth, and useful.” The witch folded her hands and played with her thumbs. “I need but mana and a little mental clarity, to cast my spells well. You, on the other hand, depend on your networks of people. Almost useless outside of parties, and council meetings.”

“My parties aren’t that useless.” Evenin defended calmly. “I’d say parties and council meetings is what built this city” she gestured around her.

“Really? And how was your parties last week. Did you make any new cities?”

Evenin held in an eyeroll at the sarcasm, but the desire to make one must’ve still been apparent on her face. “The gnomes certainly want to make a new city, out of Ermos.” She responded. “They really made their presence known when I visited The Little Mountain. In that huge Great Cavern Hall there, they had no issues finding me among hundreds of dwarves.” She thought back at the memory. “But I don’t believe you don’t already know what they wanted.”

“Their desires have come to my attention” Irrid confirmed.

“Well. I’d say, if their arguments and case was good enough, I could bring it up before my colleagues in The Young Mountains, and the West and the East could, thus, be connected. The Trans-Melrum Ironhorse. The city would never be the same.”

Irrid, curiously, rolled her eyes at that, as if the dwarf had just said something silly. “We’re in Ermos, Evenin! This city is never the same. It never has been the same. Not a year goes by that it hasn’t changed. And all that without the need for your lavish parties, of fat pigs and lazy dogs in people’s attire.”

“But nobody wants” Evenin began defending, “at least nobody I know, wants the city to just change on its own. Parties and council meetings are where the course of the city is adjusted. It’s where we steer the fates of the people. And something like The Trans-Melrum Ironhorse would never happen on its own.”

“Meh” Irrid let out, clearly not one for pursuing that particular discussion any further. “And so that’s all that happened? Annoying gnomes.”

“Annoying gnomes.” Evenin responded. “And one additional interesting discussion I had, with that other, recent personality.” Evenin grew an interest on her face, something that mildly infected Irrid with an interest as well. “That excitable gnome leader – Roovalup Gigalut.” Evenin smiled at a memory. “Head of The Mecha-Gnomes Revenge. I trust you know him?”

“I am sorry to say that I do.” Irrid deflated back to her old sour self.

“And you also know that new dungeon which appeared a few years ago? That mage Jorteg’s place?”

Irrid nodded.

“The Little Mountain hate it, for the same reason they want to protect Wintershield. Jorteg has moved into The Lands of Ermos. By their eyes, that mage has claimed Ermos’ territory. Gigalut was there at the party to make an announcement. It was a publicity stunt, obviously. A clever and timely publicity stunt. But he said this: the next Great Zerg of The Mecha-Gnomes’ Revenge – it’s going to be Jorteg. They’re going to vanquish him. Kill him.”