The Gates of Thelgrim

by Robbie MacNiven

  Bradha turned and snatched him by the shoulder, hauling him in close. Her eyes burned with anger behind the intricately carved rim of her helmet.

  “Say something,” she snarled at him under her breath. “Go on. Say something more. Anything. Give me an excuse to break your nose.”

  Raythen forced himself to smile as he fought the battle of his life to hold his tongue. He raised both hands, and Bradha let go, shoving him away.

  “Front rank will reform on me,” she barked at her warriors. “The rest of the column is dismissed!”

  There was a clatter as the seven Dunwarr at the front took up positions on either side of Raythen, Astarra and Shiver. The gates at the far end of the hall had started to open.

  “Whatever happens, say nothing and do nothing,” Raythen said urgently to his two companions as the rest of the column broke up. “Even if it seems like a matter of life and death. Just let me do the talking, the thinking and the acting. Let me do everything. Is that clear?”

  Astarra nodded, while Shiver remained as opaque as ever.

  “Is that clear?” Raythen repeated with a snarl, his one eye fixed on them. He knew he was showing weakness, which he hated to do, but right now his nerves were giving him a degree of focus. He wasn’t risking them messing this all up, not when they were already so close to failure. If they put a foot wrong, none of them were going to get a second chance.

  “Yes,” they said together. Raythen couldn’t keep the relief from showing on his face.

  “Move,” Bradha said. They set off once more, beyond the hall and out into Thelgrim proper.

  •••

  The ancient city of the Dunwarrs didn’t seem to have changed in the years since Raythen had last visited, but then he doubted it had changed in the past few centuries either. The street beyond the gateway fortress was wide, set between two stalagmites that were so vast they would likely have accounted for half the city of Frostgate each. Houses and stairways had been carved into their sides, row upon row, layer upon layer, dozens of dwellings, shops and taverns that looked out on the roadway from small, square windows and doorways chiseled into the refashioned, reformed bedrock. Dunwarr masons prided themselves on the unparalleled ability to craft the living stone of the mountain into a tiered city without disrupting the natural patterns of the rock. Thelgrim was their masterpiece, a place where it was impossible to say just where the structures finished and the mountain began.

  Raythen had seen all of it before, but one thing was noticeably different this time. Normally the Southgate, the wide street directly off Thelgrim’s southern entrance, would be thronging with people, not only Dunwarr but traders and visitors of all kinds from across Terrinoth. The spaces to the side of the roadway would have been crammed with makeshift stalls and haggling booths, with foreign merchants selling all that Thelgrim so often lacked – silks and fine cloths, fresh meats and fruits, timber and parchment – in exchange for the rich, raw bounty of the earth. Instead, there was nothing. The edges of the street were deserted, and the wider avenue was little better. The few denizens he could see, almost all of them Dunwarr, hurried by without even glancing at the unlikely trio and the warriors flanking them, their heads bowed and eyes averted.

  He resisted the urge to ask Bradha a genuine question about the lack of people, knowing that, at best, she’d tell him nothing. Right now, they were prisoners in all but name, and he feared that their circumstances were only set to worsen.

  The route led them deeper into the city. Thelgrim’s streets were a maze that ran between and around the rocky outcrops, great and small, that constituted the city’s foundations. As they went Raythen noted not only the scarcity of Thelgrim’s inhabitants, but also the fact that many stores, shops and wayhouses were boarded up. It was as if the city had been abandoned, or its population shut up inside their homes. He’d seen similar fates befall many other places in Terrinoth, caused by war, plague and strife, but never had he known it to befall mighty, immutable, enduring Thelgrim.

  The only question was why?

  Their route took them along a narrow street between two rocky buttresses. Overhead arched a span of stone, Dunwarr-crafted. The sound of rushing water betrayed its purpose – it was part of the Deeprun, the subterranean river that gave the city life. After first settling beneath the mountain, the Dunwarr had fashioned a mighty aqueduct that ran through the cavern, redirecting the flow into the Blackwater, the great lake that lay at the cavern’s center. As it passed through the city, tributaries from the aqueduct provided running water to taverns, workshops and even ordinary homes.

  The lake itself came into view as they left the street, an expanse of water surrounded by the looming outcrops of city-rock, dark and seemingly bottomless. The only ripples that disturbed its glassy surface came from the waterfall that marked the end of the aqueduct, and the churning of the mill-wheels along the far bank, where a host of workshops and smelter halls stood hard on the lake’s shores.

  •••

  The bastions of industry paled into insignificance next to the main building dominating the embankment, the Guild Hall. It was one of the few freestanding structures in Thelgrim, not built into the flank of a rock formation but laid stone slab upon stone slab, up to a great sloping roof lined with countless squares of black slate. It was supported by ten pillars, each carved with magnificent precision to appear like ten huge Dunwarr, lifting the weight of the roof upon their arms and shoulders. Each titanic figure represented one of the ten guilds that ruled over much of life in Thelgrim, and had done since the old noble lineages fell by the wayside.

  For all its size and grandeur, the Guild Hall was neither the largest nor the most intimidating structure overlooking the Blackwater.

  Bradha led them on the near side of the lake. Past the nearest stalagmite, their destination became clear. Raythen had expected as much, but he still cursed under his breath as the others took in the sight.

  They were bound for the Dunwol Kenn Karnin.

  •••

  Astarra fought to maintain her concentration.

  She had never seen anything like Thelgrim. The sheer size of the cavern alone was stunning. It seemed larger than the mountain it was buried beneath, its scale difficult to fathom. One of the Dunwarr guards had actually shoved her earlier when she’d almost come to a complete stop staring up at the ceiling. The strange orbs and the light they cast upon the thick, jagged crust of gemstones and geodes created a glittering, multi-hued constellation, a heavenly map born out of Mennara’s rugged heart. It was the most beautiful thing Astarra had ever seen, so much so that she hadn’t even considered rounding on the dwarf who had pushed her.

  The Dunwarr seemed wholly unaffected by the wondrous sight, including Raythen. Astarra had feared what would happen when the patrol had first encountered them on the Hearth Road. Since first meeting him, she’d assumed that Raythen, clearly a thief to the very core of his being, was wanted in Thelgrim. He’d have stolen something and been banished or, worse, they’d still be hunting him. If that was the case however, the reaction of the dwarf captain hadn’t made sense. The Dunwarr hadn’t exactly seized them and shackled them on sight, even if they also hadn’t left them much of a choice in accompanying them to the city. Regardless, they were now at their mercy. She could only trust the original instructions about the League of Invention.

  She fixed her eyes on what she assumed had to be their destination. Beyond the black lake stood a structure that towered above even the tallest of the surrounding stalagmites. It had been built into several rocky buttresses that rose up from the cavern floor, forming a stronghold of parapets and bastion towers that looked out over the waters and the aqueduct that fed them.

  This, she assumed, was the final fastness of the Dunwarr, the heart of their realm and the seat of their rulers. The realization that she was about to be brought before King Ragnarson of the Deeps wasn’t an especially reassuring one. She just
hoped Raythen knew what he was doing.

  They were marched along the side of the lake, leaving behind the last of the dwelling places carved into the cavern’s jagged floor. Those in themselves were marvels to Astarra. She had never envisaged anyone living on top of one another the way they did in Thelgrim, where tiered rows of buildings were cut into the flanks of the rock pillars and stalagmites, tapering out towards the top. Part of her had assumed the city would be a crowded warren, some sort of vast underground burrow where people were crushed together. There was none of that here though. The houses were neat and ordered and the streets that wound between them, for the most part, were wide and open. The twinkling stone-light cast by the orbs high above completed the impression that they weren’t actually underground at all. It was a world away from the pitch-black, claustrophobic tunnels and crevices Raythen had initially led them through. That was a relief, though she was loathed to admit it.

  The only thing that seemed to be missing was the people. She wanted to ask Raythen if it was normal for the streets to be so quiet. The Dunwarr she did see either hurried past or stared from the small windows and door arches of their homes. She wondered if the seeming abandonment had something to do with the shutting of the main gates. But if so, what? Had some sort of plague befallen the city? Some prophecy of doom? Had the deep elves besieged them, or fought a great, slaughterous battle that had left Thelgrim partially depopulated?

  The citadel seemed unwilling to share answers on the matter. It glared down at them with stony dwarven distrust as they approached its gates. She heard orders, barked in the rough Dunwarr tongue, ringing out over the battlements. There was the slow, heavy clanking of chains as the portcullis ahead of them rose, the doors behind it swinging inwards to expose a fire-lit entrance hall.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” she hissed at Raythen. He glanced back at her with an expression that was hardly comforting.

  “Hold your tongue and don’t set anyone on fire, and we’ll be fine,” he growled back at her.

  She held her staff a little tighter. They were ushered in through the gateway, then halted in the entrance hall. More Dunwarr were waiting, not just warriors but others in tabards emblazoned with the golden livery of the mountain. Several hailed the captain and exchanged a short, sharp conversation before one hurried away up a set of spiral stairs cut into the bedrock of one of the outcrops the citadel was built upon.

  “You will come with me,” the captain said. She had drawn a torch from a holder lining the wall, slinging her shield across her back.

  “Well, we’ve followed you this far,” Raythen said. The captain didn’t so much as look at him, but motioned Astarra and Shiver forward.

  The elf hadn’t uttered a sound since crossing the span into Thelgrim. Given what had happened on the Hearth Road, Astarra wasn’t sure she even wanted to be in close proximity to him. The deep elf attack had shaken her, and she found it impossible to believe he wasn’t in some way responsible. He’d shown no desire to resist the dwarfs so far though.

  They were pointed towards a series of steps that delved down into the rock of the citadel. A narrow passageway, its stairs worn and shrouded in musty shadows, twisted downwards until it reached a long, low undercroft, lit by a single brazier at the far end. The walls were lined with doors studded with iron grates. It didn’t look like the royal hall Astarra had anticipated. Her hopes plummeted, replaced by an indignant anger.

  She turned on the dwarf captain as she followed them down, the light of her torch making her armor gleam and shimmer.

  “You intend to imprison us?” she demanded. “This is a jail, isn’t it?”

  “This is only the upper dungeon,” the captain said. “I assure you, there are far worse places where you might be held. Your stay here will be only temporary, one way or another.”

  “What’s that supposed to– ?” Astarra began to say, but Raythen cut her off.

  “Will he come in person?” he asked the captain.

  “I couldn’t say,” she responded, advancing down the undercroft and pointing at one of the heavy-set doors. “You know him better than I.”

  Raythen shrugged his shoulders, about to step through into the cell beyond. Astarra grabbed his arm urgently.

  “I’ve trusted you this far,” she said. “Tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

  “That’s what I was wondering myself,” Raythen admitted, loud enough for Bradha to hear. “I was about to ask the good captain the same thing. Is this really the kind of hospitality the Dunwarr are now offering their visitors? Imprisoned in a cell with barely a word?”

  “If I was imprisoning you, I wouldn’t let you keep that staff, for starters,” the captain replied, stepping into the space and fixing her torch into one of the brackets. “And I wouldn’t leave this unlocked. Wait here. You will be called upon. If you need anything, one of my kindred will be outside.”

  Raythen looked back at her and nodded. Astarra glanced at Shiver, but the elf was as unreadable as ever.

  Face set, she ducked into the cell after him.

  •••

  “What did you do?” Astarra demanded of Raythen the moment the captain had departed. “Why are they treating us like this?”

  “Honestly, I thought it’d be worse,” Raythen said. Astarra hissed with frustration, pacing the whole length of the cell before turning sharply back to point an accusing finger at the dwarf.

  “We’ve just been imprisoned in all but name because that captain recognized you. At the very least you should have told us you were wanted in Thelgrim!”

  “I’m not wanted,” Raythen said, with a bleak smile. “That’s the whole problem.”

  He sat down on the bench that ran along the wall of the otherwise empty cell. Astarra continued to pace, her swift footsteps soft and urgent on the bare stone floor. This wasn’t the sort of welcome to Thelgrim she had been anticipating. It was as though they already knew she had designs for the runestone. Was this all an act of treachery by Raythen? And what about Shiver? She glanced at him as he stood in the far corner, arms hugging his body.

  It seemed the elf was having similar thoughts, because he was the one who broke the silence.

  “You are not who you seem,” he said. Astarra halted and looked from him to Raythen. The dwarf glanced at Shiver briefly before looking away and shrugging.

  “Who among us is?” he responded. “Certainly not you, elf.”

  “My past is a mystery to all, including myself,” Shiver said. “But yours you deliberately conceal. You portray yourself as a thief, a rogue, but that is not the truth.”

  It was the first time Astarra had heard Shiver interrogate either of them about anything. She wondered if it was an indicator of the dire nature of their situation.

  “It is the truth,” Raythen said, not looking at the elf. Astarra realized she was seeing something else she’d not yet witnessed – the dwarf was genuinely uncomfortable. “I’ve never denied my nature to either of you this past month.”

  “Perhaps not your nature,” Shiver said, black eyes glinting in the firelight. “A thief, yes, but you are more besides. That is what you have concealed from us. From everyone beyond these walls, I suspect.”

  “You never told us why you didn’t want to come back to Thelgrim,” Astarra added, picking up her own train of thought. “You wanted us to assume it was because you were some kind of petty thief. But a Dunwarr captain doesn’t seize a thief with a fully armed patrol twenty years later, escort them to the heart of their city then leave them in an unlocked cell with a human and an elf sorcerer.”

  Raythen sighed before speaking, his voice heavy with frustration. “I’ve got a past here. More than just… petty theft, as you put it, Astarra.”

  “A past that you wanted to avoid by not coming back,” Astarra pressed. “But why? What do the rulers of this city want with you?”

  “It’s w
hat they don’t want with me,” Raythen said, finally fixing his one, fierce eye on his accusers. “I didn’t wish to return because I’m the son of the King in the Deeps. My father is Geirmund Ragnarson, ruler of Thelgrim.”

  Chapter Seven

  Shiver said nothing, letting the words sink in as he considered them. Astarra was not so measured.

  “You’re the heir to the Dunwarrs, and you never thought to mention it to us?” she shouted. The tip of her staff had ignited, the fire drawn forth by her anger.

  “I’m not the heir to anything,” Raythen snapped. “You’d know that if they’d taught you anything at all about the Dunwarr at that worthless university you ran away from. Then perhaps you wouldn’t be gawking at everything you see in the Deeps like a newborn youngling.”

  “The ruler of Thelgrim is elected for life by the city’s guilds,” Shiver said, as Astarra visibly vacillated between fury and confusion. “It is not a hereditary position. Ragnarson was a prominent member of the Blacksmiths’ Guild, though he has been king now for so long that some forget the elected nature of the role.”

  “I’m the heir of nothing,” Raythen repeated coldly. “Except perhaps a mind-numbing existence beating away at an anvil for the next few hundred years.”

  “How did you think you’d get away with this?” Astarra asked incredulously. “How could you expect to walk into Thelgrim when you’re the king’s son?”

  “His only son too,” Raythen added. “And yes, I did expect to walk into Thelgrim. What I didn’t expect was to find the Hearth Road abandoned and the city apparently half empty despite the gates being shut. It’s not difficult to go unseen in the trader’s caravans and the market places, even with characters like you two. I could have slipped away to the League headquarters and been back with the stone in no time. It wouldn’t even have taken us a whole day in the city.”