“Leave by the western tunnels. If anyone asks you just tell them that you are delivering some of my old armor to the forge for repairs. From there you know how to get to Underheim.” Bredyn parted company with them then and found an unfrequented circuitous path home.
Roild and Taric carried their cargo through the settlement without incident and only had to show their faces to the gatekeeper in order to be let out. Once beyond the gates they found walking in the dark to be more difficult. Here and there a glow stone shed light on the path but most travelers would have been carrying a torch. Only a duo of dwarves returning from the forges met them on the way. They merely nodded greetings and continued their separate directions. The junction at the forges was lit with another glow stone but after that the trail was pitch black. They felt their way as far as they could and then stopped.
“We should have brought a torch.” Taric growled as he fumbled with the sack containing his armor. He apparently had tied it shut in his haste. Roild found it curious that he had taken the time to tie it but then again Taric was odd that way. Just then Roild let out a startled curse as a clanging filled the cave with deafening loudness.
“For the love of the deep! What was that for?” Roild hissed through clenched teeth.
“I’m sorry.” Taric apologized then explained the knot he had been trying to untie had in reality been the seam at the bottom of the sack and while thus engaged the real top that was on the bottom had come open letting everything fall out. Roild himself had reason to apologize a minute later as his helm slipped out of his fingers and landed squarely on his toe. Putting the helm on he brushed his fingers over the crystal set on the forehead. A soft white light flared to life giving him enough light to put the rest of the armor on. Soon he and Taric were covered in the white specks of light.
Taric’s father was an armor smith and had created a matching set of armor for both of the dwarves. The stones that shed the light were a special crystal made in Underheim. It seemed to draw energy from the armor’s wearer and was especial useful for traveling the tunnels. The small crystals were purer than the large crystals that had lit the path to the forge and as such cast brighter cleaner light. The armor itself was crafted from a light yet strong metal that could be worn for days without especially tiring the wearer. Roild and Taric wore these masterpieces whenever they had need of venturing into the tunnels. Not only did they offer protection but they eliminated the need for torches. Most were forced to carry the glow stones cast into holders for their light. Taric and Roild however were free to move without restriction and had both hands free.
Their path illuminated they wrapped the human in warm cloaks and lifted the litter. The going was not overly fast but at least for a few rods the tunnels were well maintained. It would be more difficult going once they reached the roughhewn tunnels. The work of generations of dwarves exploring the mountain deep and now the highways of the deep.
Dwarves in the trade caravans were they only ones that they had any chance of meeting. Besides those heavily armed groups there was not hardly a chance of running across anyone else. The instances where a lone dwarf ventured into the tunnels were rare. Even rarer were the tales of these dwarves actually emerging again. Small groups as few in number as two were not unheard of but never the less infrequent. There were stories of monsters that hide deep inside the Garoche Mountains. Monsters that appeared in tales told to young disobedient dwarves. The small party was silent as they progressed deeper into the tunnels. Each was busy with his own thoughts.
“How did we get into this?” Roild asked aloud. He was thinking about how his orderly life had been turned upside down at the drop of a helm.
“You are the one that had to go investigate that sound in the crack.” Taric apparently was thinking along the same lines as Roild had been.
“Me? You are the one who needed a break from stone crushing.” Roild retorted.
“My back was getting sore. Why do you need such a large house anyways? Can’t you just make a couple rooms and expand it later when you have your own kids to do it?” Taric began grumbling about how hard it was to be Roild’s friend. Current circumstances seemed to substantiate his claims.
“I want Esteris to be happy. She can’t well be happy if she is shoved in a little hole in the cavern wall now can she?” Roild had an image in his mind of what he wanted the house to look like when it was finished. True he would inherit the ancestral home eventually but he also wanted it to be something he could proudly give a child. The added bonus of being able to boast of having built it all was appealing.
“Ya whatever. But do you have to have vaulted ceilings and pillars? It is a lot of work carving out that much stone!” Taric caught his breath as he stumbled. Seeing that their charge was undisturbed continued his lament until Roild cut him off.
“I want it to be a place that I will be proud to call my own until I inherit. You know that I am trying for an ancient human theme. The carvings that I have seen all have pillars and vaulted ceilings. It looks...” Roild paused as he sought a descriptive word equal to the task.
“Foreboding, archaic, backbreaking, excessive, unnecessary, time consuming and backbreaking? Did by any chance did I mention backbreaking?” Taric attempted to supply the missing word.
“I already know what you think of it. Just think how impressive it would be to walk in the front entrance and lookup at engravings of the deeds of the mighty dwarves of the past?” Roild grew animated with the idea.
“Oh please! Just kill me now. I would be better off walking into a nest of wild spiders to put myself out of my misery.” Taric rolled his eyes dramatically to emphasize his point.
“Seriously? That would be an excruciating death spanning days unless they decided to eat you sooner.” Roild laughed at his friend’s petulance.
“Here is to hoping they are hungry. It would save me the years of misery your imagination would inflict on me.”
“Whatever. It isn’t like I am expecting you to do any of it. You volunteered remember?” Roild shook his head.
“That is right. I did! Should have known.” Taric snorted in disgust.
“So why did you volunteer?” Roild had asked himself the question every time Taric had complained throughout the last couple weeks.
“Just a lapse of better judgment.”
“No, you never volunteer for anything. Unless of course you have an angle.” Roild twisted and looked over his shoulder at his fellow travelers. The human was motionless and Taric’s face was shadowed behind the bejeweled helm. Roild didn’t have to see the face to know he had hit close to an uncomfortable truth. Taric rarely refrained from responding from something as damaging to his dignity as Roild’s comment.
“It’s because... Because I'm the second born and my brother will get our ancestral home. I was hoping that you would feel obligated to help me construct a home worth bringing a wife into. You know I'm no good at the fine details like you are. I can get a good shape but you can make a simple rock majestic.” Taric confessed his motives for persistently assisting his friend.
“You daft fool! Of course I would help you even if you didn’t help me with my house.” Roild laughed heartily as a new thought presented itself.
“You would?” Taric sounded optimistic.
“I said that I would didn’t I? Anyways, now that you mention it I am going to have to get creative in order to disguise that gouge you made in the wall.”
“By the deep, if you mention that one more time!” Taric growled furiously.
“Hey, hey, be careful.” Roild stopped and listened carefully. No sound of pursuit greeted his ears. Lowering the litter he checked the human’s pulse. It was as feeble as it had been before but no worse. A peek under the eyelids revealed the same mysterious inner light as before although the shifting colors were not discernable. It seemed the color remained an icy shade of blue.
“What are we supposed to do with him?” Taric queried when they had finished checking on the security of the warm cloaks.
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“Take him to Underheim. The Corom there will know what to do with him.” Roild parroted his father’s parting orders as if he had any idea what they meant.
“That is a week long journey. What are we supposed to do with him during that time?” Taric infrequently had moods where logic prevailed and he would question the most annoying things. Roild silently cursed the deep for this being one of those moments. He trusted his father but his friend was asking questions that he couldn’t answer. The human was as thin as a beam. Not a spare ounce of weight under those muscles. In the condition that the lad was in he needed proper care in order to hope to survive.
If Roild had been near as injured he would have been exiled to his bed and Nayer would have poured broths down his throat until he sweated the stuff. Any cold draft would have been plugged and he would have been given her full attention. Here in the tunnels there was no healing broths and the only air to be had was often musty and always cold.
Neither of the two dwarves had thought to grab food in their haste. A battle axe was not an instrument normally utilized in hunting. Not that either of them wanted to stumble accidentally into a wild spider nest. Not that there was much else to hunt in the dark accept for the pale gray tunnel spiders. There were the patches of mushrooms but their location couldn’t be predicted or relied upon. It wouldn’t matter either way if they were poisonous. It was then that Roild remembered the parcel his mother had given him.
Searching through the empty bag he found it in the bottom. Inside Nayer had packed a few dried mushrooms and various other light foodstuffs. Enough to last them a couple days at least. That problem temporarily remedied they set out again. Water was rarely a problem. The mountains above were always covered in snow that melted and seeped through the cracks. The problem was that there was a chance there could be too much water in the tunnels. Roild tried to remember which ones took the higher ground in the hopes that they would be less prone to filling.
“You like her don’t you? I mean seriously like her.” Roild tried to distract himself and Taric from the rather sobering journey ahead of them.
“What! No! Who are you talking about?” Taric’s initial reaction to the assertion confirmed Roild’s suspicion and also gave him ample opportunity to return the many jibes that had been his to endure since it had become public knowledge of his and Esteris’ betrothal.
“The Granite Bane girl. You actually like her.” Roild laughed when Taric’s silence was confirmation enough.
“If you breathe a word to anyone I will cut out your tongue and stuff it down your throat.” Taric menaced under his breath.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Fenar stood in the middle of the main room of the new Golden Thistle and appraised the finishing touches that were being applied to the furnishings. Tusul had overseen the rebuilding of the inn from the dilapidated old shell that it had once been. Some time ago it had been a brothel until a carelessly placed torch had burnt the building out. Brounn had never liked the previous clientele and owner. The rumors painted him in the shadows as responsible for the conflagration in some distant way. Nothing more substantial than rumors surfaced so it was soon blown over and forgotten.
The clientele had been comprised mostly of the lower echelons of the army given to carousing and trouble making. Not the kind you wanted to associate with if you happened to be a spy working for an assassin. They were more likely to rob you blind than to actually know something useful. Far more work than they were worth. The previous owner was a shady individual that wasn’t that unlike Brounn himself. This could have been a source for their mutual dislike however Brounn had certain morals that the brothel owner didn’t have. It was common knowledge among the locals that you visited the brothel with only the coin needed to purchase the desired services. Any additional coin was unlikely to ever be seen again. There were also rumors of people that had visited and disappeared never to be seen again.
After the building had burned and the crook in charge had lost all his ill-gotten wealth Brounn had quietly made an offer for the place. At first the not overly generous offer had been turned down but the man accepted and disappeared after rumors began spreading about certain crimes attributed to the brothel owner. Tusul had constructed a hidden exit through the back of Brounn’s establishment and the building had been largely forgotten.
Now that Fenar had appeared the building had a new purpose. Tusul had been tasked with converting the aged and charred structure into the best inn that Warton could boast of. Fenar was meticulous and had spent hours discussing every detail with Tusul. The two of them had devised hidden compartments and passages throughout the building. The wine cellar was not only stocked with the best wine but had a passage to Brounn’s establishment. There wasn’t a blind hallway in the building wherein one could become trapped by pursuers. A hidden door opened discreetly on every side of the building. From the attic one could eavesdrop on all the upper story rooms with ease. Not a word spoken in a whisper went unheard in the lower level rooms if one stood in the right spot in the wine cellar. Despite the hidden accessories the walls if rapped smartly would give the impression of being solid and sound proof. The illusion was carefully maintained and promised a virtual treasure trove of information from any visitors from the right circles.
Turana and Fenar were of a like mind and had spent days and a thousand silver sewing or embroidering every piece of cloth in the establishment. When finished it would far outshine the best tavern or inn that boasted a bed for the wealthy traveler. Fenar seemed in her element as she surveyed the fine apartments. In time the Golden Thistle of Warton would develop a reputation that she hoped would make it the only choice for passing nobles and officials. The burgomeister had a few spare rooms as well as a couple of the local taverns. They were really the only competition once word got out. The one tavern was located on the main thoroughfare but stretched the truth when they boast of clean beds. The other was more a stable that the more impoverished travelers could pay to sleep in.
The burgomeister was a better choice but you had to be a noble of some prestige in order to be called a visitor in the man’s home. The food there had a reputation of being meager when visitors were about unless a few extra coins made an appearance. The burgomeister was also the land master and had aspirations of climbing the social ladders in Shienhin. This made him untrusted by certain elements of the nobles. On top of that he may have had the aspirations but not the manners or the social skills needed in order to accomplish his desires. Even some of the army officials loyal to the Chancellor chose to avoid the burgomeister's residence even if they could afford the coin charged for the privilege of staying under the mayor’s roof.
Fenar had sent messages to some of the people that had worked for her in the past. They had been arriving over the last few days. Brounn had been astonished at the alacrity with which she had constructed her information gathering network. Her assistants were already skilled in the art of coaxing information from unsuspecting people and managing that information. Her network was not limited to the people that entered the Golden Thistle. There were a large number of orphans that had learned that they could get regular meals and in return they reported everything that happened in the city. Already Brounn had learned of a number interesting events through Fenar’s efforts sometimes days before his own network in the city unearthed the information.
It was while contemplating whether to put a tapestry centered on an empty section of the wall or if it would be better to split the wall with two smaller tapestries that the door opened from the street. In stepped the aforementioned burgomeister before stomping off his feet on the rug placed at the door. Fenar raised an eyebrow at the dirt smeared on the rug. It was proper etiquette to stomp one’s feet off outside the door. Etiquette that even the majority of the common people observed. It was no wonder that the burgomeister had been ignored and had so far been unable to attain his goals of ennoblement.
“Rorale! It is wonderful to see you. Can I help you with something? Perhap
s a spiced mug of hot wine?” Fenar inquired while noting the scowl that accompanied her use of the burgomeister's first name.
“Burgomeister to you. Fenar I believe it was. It has come to my attention that you are opening an inn. You know that there are a few requirements don’t you?” Rorale didn’t even have the good graces to remove his hat in the presence of the lady of the establishment.
“Indeed, my name is Fenar. Would you refresh my memory? I am unaware of there being any laws that I haven’t complied with.” Fenar got a leer as a response for her answer.
“I wasn’t asked permission before construction was started.” Rorale leaned against a door frame and continued leering. Fenar realized that the permission that was being referred to was in the form of a bribe. On top of that he would never be satisfied with one bribe but would bleed the Golden Thistle dry. He wouldn’t be satisfied with simply recouping his lost revenues but would seize the opportunity to gain from the circumstances.
“I received permission from the proper authorities before construction was started. Would you care to elaborate on how I failed in this?”
“The proper authorities obviously were incorrect seeing as I was not involved. On top of that it is dangerous for a single woman to run a tavern alone. I can offer you protection for a price.” Rorale came to the point rather abruptly.
“I am far from alone. My servants are all very trustworthy and have worked for me at my previous inn. Also running an inn is considerably safer than running a tavern.”
“Inn, tavern, same difference. That still doesn’t negate the required permissions.” Rorale would not be distracted from the purpose of his visit.
“Oh, yes. The matter of permission. I believe that I did go to the proper authorities and have a friend that I think you should meet.” Fenar smiled and moved off towards one of the side rooms.
Chronicles of Den'dra: A Land Torn: Ancient Powers Awaken Page 27
