Ninth of Nirakos
Year 1182 of Emancipation
It took most of Belkai’s willpower to allow Lithmae to pull her away from Shontelle. She trusted the elven healers; she would gladly entrust her own life to them. She also trusted Shontelle herself, knowing that the young woman was telling the truth, at least to the best of her own knowledge. Yet she still felt an unease about leaving her alone. Perhaps it was that she expected one more piece of vital information to fall into place. Maybe she simply wanted to make sure that she didn’t die of an unexpected injury from her encounter with the vatriloi. The truth was that Belkai didn’t understand her own motivations, only that she felt the need to be near the survivor. Lithmae, however, wisely intervened. Quietly leading Belkai outside, he had informed her that one of the scouts had returned from the ruins.
“They took casualties,” Lithmae had said. “But they went as far as they could. Something is blocking their way.”
They had set out on the seventh, knowing that it would likely take at least two days to reach the ruins. Most of Narandir had its secret paths that sped the elves’ journeys, but this area was too wild for them to know that well. That would have to change, Belkai thought as she followed Lithmae and the scout. They had just broken camp on the morning of the eighth of Nirakos when Belkai asked Lithmae,
“Tell me about this Syndra. Was she up to the task?”
Lithmae had nodded without hesitation. “I chose her myself. She’s young, only a hundred years old. But she’s a gifted hunter. She’s killed four trolls that I know of, all on her own. The team was all very capable of taking on any enemy, but Syndra has a rare wisdom and a nose for detecting trouble. If she’s urgently requested your presence, it’s for a good reason.”
Belkai had accepted that. She’d quickly learned to trust Lithmae’s insights, and Loranna had concurred with his assessment. Her bodyguard refused to be left behind, though Belkai caught the glances that she was giving Lithmae. She didn’t mind, so she stayed silent on that matter, at least for now.
It was approaching midday on the ninth of Nirakos when Belkai finally spotted the watchtower. She listened as birds squawked as they pecked at insects hidden amongst the vines on the structure, and watched as one of their escorting Blackwings swooped down to snatch away a crow. All’s fair, Belkai thought as she watched the violent display. When the Blackwing died, the crows would return the favour. It was a vicious cycle, but that was nature. The hunter always became the hunted.
“It seems to have been a small outpost,” the scout reported as they broke through the main tree line and entered the ancient compound. “Room for about fifty or so soldiers, we estimated, though there could be more buildings lost to time.”
No, there wouldn’t be much more, Belkai knew as she looked around. This was subtle, unobtrusive. No one would seek this out unless they knew exactly where to look. If her hunch was correct, then it would make sense for the dwarves to hide treasures here rather than in a more opulent location.
A female elf stepped out a long building, bowing low when she reached the newcomers.
“You must be Syndra,” Belkai said, reaching out and feeling the sadness in the elf.
“Milady,” she replied. “I am sorry to make you come out here.”
“The walking does me good,” Belkai said with a gentle smile, and looked around. “What happened here?”
“We made it to the ruins without trouble,” Syndra reported, and led them towards the building. “Not even a single troll, despite how many are usually in these parts. We must have caught them on a good week. All of the other buildings were fairly basic – watchtower, living arrangements, a dining area. This was where they took care of more intimate matters.”
Belkai smiled as she ran her eyes over the waste trenches, but it turned to a frown when she saw the trapdoor.
“What’s that?” she asked. She felt a flash of sorrow as Syndra laid her eyes on it.
“That is the tunnel, Milady. I lost four of my men down there.”
Belkai didn’t take a step towards it as she turned to the elf. Her voice low and filled with sympathy, she asked, “What happened, Syndra?”
“The damned dwarves laid traps throughout the tunnel. They hid tripwires under clay deposits. They were invisible until they were set off.” Syndra swallowed nervously, then led the way to the trapdoor. “It would be better to show you, if you’ll permit me.”
“As you wish.”
Loranna insisted on following Syndra first, with Belkai and Lithmae following close behind. When Belkai reached the bottom of the stairs, she put a hand on Loranna’s shoulder and whispered,
“Let me follow her. I have to see this.”
Loranna seemed uncertain but nodded and stepped aside to let Belkai past. Syndra noticed this and said,
“We went back through the whole tunnel and tested every inch of the floor. The traps are gone.”
Belkai felt more of her pain. “You lost one clearing it out.”
Syndra just nodded before leading the way down the rocky path. Belkai froze when she saw the first body, still hanging off the spike that had impaled him.
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“We couldn’t break the steel,” Syndra explained. “Creator willing, we might find a way. But for now we had to leave him.”
“I’m sorry,” Loranna said quietly. Belkai struggled to find the words, but she put a hand on the body’s shoulder and whispered a short prayer. Lithmae motioned for Syndra to keep moving, and Loranna gently squeezed Belkai’s arm to bring her back to the present. They paused at the horizontal spears and Loranna whispered a curse.
“What are they protecting in here?” she asked quietly. No one gave an answer. It was only a few more steps before the next trap. The ground looked burned, almost melted. Lithmae pointed at a slit in the ceiling.
“Acid,” Syndra whispered. “Rihorn screamed for a good five minutes as it ate through him.”
“How did they keep that potent all these years?” Lithmae asked.
“Dwarves have always been master engineers,” Belkai reminded him. “Nothing surprises me with them. Syndra, I’m so sorry that you went through this.”
“It’s not all.” There was no anger in Syndra’s voice, just resignation. There were two more bloodied traps, both a set of massive spikes that must have torn the elves apart limb from limb. Syndra moved past them without a word. Around a bend in the tunnel, they came to the end. Embedded in the far wall was a solid slab of gold, shining bright and reflecting the flames of their torches. There was green cursive script engraved around the edges. If it was a door, then there was no handle or obvious way of opening it.
“I don’t recognise the script,” Syndra said. “It’s no form of elvish that I have ever seen.”
Belkai ran her hand over the slab and frowned. “It’s warm.”
She closed her eyes and let her senses reach out. There was something strange on the other side; not living, but still able to be detected by her abilities. Whatever it was, it seemed at one moment to be distant, only to draw close a second later. What are you, she silently questioned. She got no answer.
“It’s dwarven script,” Loranna said. “That’s the only explanation I’ve got.”
“It must be an ancient form, then,” Lithmae said, standing beside her. “I don’t recognise it either.”
“Instructions on how to open it?” Syndra asked. “Or a warning to those who made it this far?”
“Belkai?” Loranna put a hand on Belkai’s shoulder, and she took her hand off the gold and turned to face them. Loranna let her go. “How do we open it?”
Belkai looked over the inscriptions for the first time. “It’s dwarven, from one of their first dynasties. I’ve seen it in some of the books that the Order keeps. But I don’t recognise the words.”
“Who would?” Lithmae asked. Belkai thought about Greywall. He clearly understood more than he let on, but how much? She still thought that something was off about his visit. The timing was far too quick after Mishtar’s fall, and the Song of the Ascendant was far too prominent in his thoughts.
“Only a dwarf,” Belkai finally said, her voice hesitant. “But I don’t know if we can trust them yet.”
“So what do we do?” Loranna asked.
“We wait,” Belkai replied. “We wait until things become clear.”
She looked back towards the tunnel and shook her head. “It makes no sense. The tunnel is too short, the traps too blatant. This would never keep out an army, only grave robbers.”
“Grave robbers wouldn’t hunt beneath an ancient latrine,” Lithmae pointed out. “This outpost would hold no appeal to them.”
“So the traps are a test,” Loranna guessed. “To check the resolve of any who wish to get past this door.”
“And the door itself ensures that only a dwarf could gain access,” Belkai completed her thought. She shook her head. “This makes no sense. We’re missing a piece of the puzzle.”
She turned her eyes to the golden slab and studied the script. What are you hiding?
***
Greywall was a typical dwarf, still fascinated by the processes of mining and tunnelling despite spending most of his living memory in service to them. As he made his way down the narrow passageway, he ran a hand along the unnaturally smooth stone. The tunnel was built for dwarves alone, the ceiling barely a foot above Greywall’s head. Every hundred feet or so a glowing orb gave off enough light to guide him, and his keen eyesight made up for the rest. The magic was unavoidable; they were deep enough that no shaft could provide natural light.
The tunnel curved around an ore vein, and as Greywall came around the corner he spotted Lord Zimari and Desuri speaking with a pair of miners not too far off in the distance. The king’s advisor broke off from the group and made his way over to Greywall.
“I’m glad you made it,” Desuri said with a low voice.
“The king’s summons was clear,” Greywall replied. They had also come during some much-needed time with his wife, but Zimari was not to be denied. “What is so urgent?”
“It’s more a question of importance than urgency,” Desuri told him, glancing up as Zimari let the miners go and began walking towards them. Greywall could see the tunnelling team beyond him now. The dwarven miners stood by supervising the rock-breaking machine, a steel contraption with heavy bronze blades driven by a team of slaves who constantly moved levers and wheels to operate the machinery. They were more vague shadows than solid figures, mysterious creatures that the Lord of Shadows had long ago given as slaves to the dwarves. Born of the deepest parts of the earth, they served no purposes of their own. Greywall didn’t trust them, but that was why the miners stood by ready to intervene if anything went wrong.
“Nizali, thank you for coming,” Zimari said as he drew close. Greywall bowed low.
“As you requested, Lord Zimari,” he announced. The king grunted.
“The tunnels are on schedule, you would be happy to know,” Zimari said as the prince straightened. “It will be some time until they are complete, but they are making steady progress.”
“No structural issues?” Greywall asked, studying the walls around him. At first glance they seemed perfect, but no dwarf trusted first impressions when it came to digging.
“A few ore veins that we’ve worked around,” Desuri answered. “Otherwise, it’s all been fairly simple. We haven’t reached the edge of Nimura, though. I expect things will become more difficult as the ground softens.”
“We will deal with it,” Zimari said with a wave of his hand. “This is not why I summoned you, Nizali. I have a task for you.”
“What would you have me do?”
“A group of vatriloi were spotted in Nimura some days ago,” Zimari told him, amused by his shock. “We are tracking them south. Our scouts managed to capture one, and before it died it told them that they were responsible for destroying a Svaletan town.”
“Such a thing has not occurred in living memory,” Greywall said with a frown.
“Precisely,” Zimari acknowledged. “I would not normally be concerned, but our Lord has commanded that we inform Narandir of these events. He has not chosen to tell me why.”
“You wish for me to take Belkai the message?” Greywall asked.
“It is time for me and this Lord of Narandir to meet,” Zimari told him. “The usual location. We have matters of mutual interest to discuss.”
“I live to serve,” Greywall said and gave a short bow.
“Nizali, this is a matter of great importance,” Zimari added. “Our Lord was very clear on this matter. You have two days, then you will depart. I have no need of you in that time.”
“It will be done,” Greywall promised. As he made his way southwards out of the tunnel, he frowned. He didn’t understand why there was such a sense of urgency about such a simple matter. Your Lord knows best, he reminded himself. With that, he allowed his mind to drift back to the time with his wife that had been interrupted. If nothing else, it would be a good two days.