by Krpoun, RW
When the last raider had climbed into the fault and the rope was recovered, the Badgers set off, their formation looser now due to the faint light and wider passage. Near the south end of the fault Durek led the party into a narrow crevice and along a smaller crack in the bones of the mountain which opened into a crudely-worked tunnel. They followed the tunnel for a few minutes, then left it to wade down an underground stream whose water was icy cold and crystal clear. The clumps of peton moss were more and more frequent as they travelled; degree by tiny degree the light improved until Bridget found she could see for about ten feet, albeit vaguely and in shades of gray.
The stream’s tunnel was an oval tube five feet in diameter, with the few inches of gravel flattening out the bed making for easier walking; the stream was only a few inches deep, but it filled the ‘floor’ of the tube, making it impossible to walk without getting one’s boots wet. They marched for forty minutes through the cold water which managed to defeat the waterproofing of nearly half the footgear worn by the party; taking a break was pointless as there was nowhere to rest.
Bridget noticed that Kroh was scooping handfuls of gravel out of the stream bed and tossing them aside stone by stone as he walked, which at first she thought of a merely an idle diversion, but the Dwarf’s methodical approach to the pastime intrigued her. Picking up her pace, she leaned over the Waybrother’s shoulder. “What are you doing?”
The Dwarf picked a tiny flake out of the debris in his hand and held it up. “Gold.”
Their trek through the cramped stream-tunnel ended when the tunnel opened up into another fault within the mountain, a much larger one whose ceiling was at least forty feet above them. The stream twisted and danced between the rounded stones at the fault’s bottom following the path of least resistance, but Durek led the Badgers up a steep slope to a narrow roadway cut into the wall of the fault halfway up its side.
“Break,” the Captain called softly. “Janna and Bridget stand watch.” He pointed to either direction of the road as he spoke their names, indicating the direction they were to guard.
The tired priestess moved a dozen yards down the elevated roadway in the direction he had indicated and sat down with a sigh of relief on a small boulder which apparently had fallen from the ceiling. Laying her blanket roll on the ground, she untied two of the leather thongs that held it shut and fished out her clay jar of foot powder and a dry sock; her left boot had sprung a leak. Using her kerchief to dry her foot, she carefully powdered both it and the inside of the boot before pulling the dry sock on and replacing the boot. Returning the powder jar to her roll, she bound it back up tight, tying the wet sock around her left thigh so it would dry.
Loosening her sword-rapier and basket-hilted parrying dagger in their scabbards, Bridget loaded a bullet into the pouch of her staff sling and watched the roadway, relying more on her ears than her eyes in the poor light. She had stood watch on dozens, perhaps even hundreds of other occasions, in every conceivable clime and condition; this post was nothing special. She leaned against the dry crevice wall, careful not to let her iron cap strike the stone, half-closed her eyes, and deliberately relaxed. Guard duty or not, this was all the break she was going to get for the next hour or so.
A low cough recalled her to the main body, which was forming up as she rejoined them. Moving at a steady pace, Durek and Janna scouting a short ways ahead of the main body, the Badgers followed the roadway along the fault’s wall to the end of the cleft, and beyond as the road entered a tunnel. The luminescent moss was thicker here, extending Human vision to fifteen feet, Dwarf and Lanthrell’s three times that.
Bridget ended up next to Kroh as they moved two abreast down the tunnel, which was a comfortable eight feet high and six wide. “How much gold did you find?” she whispered to break the tension that the weight of stone overhead was building in her.
“Twenty-seven flakes and a pea-sized nugget,” the Waybrother muttered back.
“For that you nearly froze your hands off?”
He gave her a withering look. “It is gold.”
She hid her smile-for a Dwarf, ore or craftsmanship was all the reason required for anything.
Arian had ended up in the lead next to Robin as they worked their way down one tunnel after another. After an hour they took a break and Kroh moved forward to replace Robin, but the monk declined replacement, preferring to be where he could see and hear what was going on instead of being buried back in the ranks.
Durek guided them by leaving arrows painted in white on squares of black cloth at any turning point. When he ran out of arrow-cloths, he and Janna stopped and let the main body catch up, then set out again. It was a monotonous process, as the tunnel they followed had been cut along natural cracks and fissures to speed the work, leaving numerous side-openings all along its length which quickly depleted their stock of signal cloths, forcing the scouts to frequently halt and reclaim the markers.
“What purpose do all these tunnels serve?” the monk whispered as he rejoined the Dwarf, stuffing an arrow cloth under his belt. “They aren't mine shafts.”
“Felher siege tunnels,” the Waybrother scraped away cobwebs and dust from a patch of wall next to a side-opening, exposing faint scratches. “They couldn’t trust the Dwarven tunnels, so they carved their own.”
“Did it work?”
“Not too well: they had to follow the mountain’s weak points in order to save time, so it wasn’t too hard for the defenders to extend the raids into these tunnels as well. If Gradrek Heleth had been part of the normal Dwarven defense net, the inhabitants would have simply harried the Felher until the rats got tired of taking losses for no gain and pulled out.”
“Assuming that this was part of the Dwarven defense net, wouldn’t these siege tunnels just make the hold more vulnerable next time?”
Kroh shook his head. “No; oh, they would leave some in place, carefully mapped, with secret side-tunnels, pits, all designed to turn them into death traps, but the bulk of them would be sealed off.”
“You mean wall off the entrances?”
“No, I mean seal. You fill the tunnel with slag, gravel, sort of thing, fuse it all by enchantment until the wound in the mountain is healed. We Dwarves don’t just chop these places out with a pick, you know; by the Eight, that would take more years than even we have. We use tools, true, but for bulk work we use enchantments.”
“Actually, I had never given it much thought,” Arian confessed. “Amazing.”
The argalt was far different than Arian had expected: he had somehow imagined travelling down a broad underground corridor to a battlemented gate, beyond which would be any number of smoke-blackened foundries, brooding smelting-pits, dark ingot-stores. Instead, they stepped through a rough hole in the wall of their crude Felher-cut siege tunnel into a passageway of roughly the same dimensions whose only difference was two grooves cut down the center of the floor, the three-inch-deep channels exactly three feet apart.
“Cart trails,” Durek explained to the monk, who had knelt to examine the depressions. “Cheaper than rails, but works on the same principal.”
“Do you use komad to pull them?”
“Only in an emergency or for training; empties are usually Dwarf-powered, while loaded ones or chains of empties are pulled by mules or winched chains, depending on the place and tasks.”
The argalt was well-lit by underground standards: peton moss grew in massive colonies in corners and along the upper walls. Here and there bird cage-like containers filled with the luminescent moss hung on chains or were mounted on wall brackets.
The rest of Arian’s suppositions were slain one by one as they moved through the abandoned factory area: the smelting areas where the metal was extracted from the ore were airy warehouse-sized places looking for all the world like bath houses with their ore-channels and separating vats sunk into the living stone of the floors. Free-hanging metal chimneys had vented away the smoke, leaving the place largely soot-free and clean. The foundries, where the raw metal
was purged of impurities and cast into ingots, were likewise open, airy places, well-ventilated and roomy. The ingot-stores were not rooms at all but areas where aisles had been cut into the stone and the thin walls between each passageway honeycombed with ingot-sized holes.
Under the accumulation of dust, limestone drippings, and the deep etching of rust that had reduced any metal of less than an inch thickness to red dust, the amazing craftsmanship and exacting attention to detail that was a hallmark of the Dwarven race was visible. The same care that had gone into the assembly of a complex winching system for the transport of ingot-laden carts had been applied to the manufacture of the moss-cages. Passing an ingot-complex, Arian saw that surrounding the mouth of each loaf-sized niche was a delicately-carved vine-pattern; in that each hundred-foot aisle held hundreds of ingots-holes, and the complex had thirty aisles, the incredible number of hours spent on the effort was staggering.
When he mentioned it to Durek on a rest stop the Dwarf shrugged. “Those complexes each have a keeper who insures that the protective wax or grease coverings on the ingots are whole, that sort of thing, usually a young Dwarf in his first job, eight or ten years in the assignment. The first keeper will start a design, ivy, vine, trellis-work, whatever, and each subsequent keeper will continue it. If you know what you are about, you can follow the carving and tell when the keepers changed by the differences in the styles; a Dwarf who studied it could tell you how long they held their positions. It’s done wherever a Dwarf has a static post.”
“Did you tend such a complex?”
“No, I started out as what you would call a tool-room keeper, same kind of job: I watched over a warehouse full of hand tools, picks, pry bars, chisels, shovels, hammers, all sorts of stone-breaking tools. I had to check them in and out, make sure they were serviceable, ensure that wear was evenly distributed, and so on. In my spare time I engraved a Goblin-skull motif around the inside door frame.” The Captain grinned, an expression discernible by the shifting of his beard braids. “I had aspirations of working in an armory, you see: they tend towards much more warlike decoration.”
The hand of invaders could be clearly seen in the factory-area as well: virtually every portable tool and device had been carried off, along with the contents of the coal-bunkers and most fittings, such as the moss-cages, doors and their hinges, hatch-covers, and the like. Only the largest blocks of raw metal remained, too heavy to be carried off through the tunnels, although in one foundry they saw the marks where some group or another had rekindled a fire in a foundry and melted down several iron ‘pigs’, as hundredweight blocks of metal are called, into more portable form.
Looting was hardly the only mark the invaders had made upon the area: many carvings and decorations were defaced or obliterated, words in various languages had been painted or scratched into the stonework in many areas, the symbols of every major Void power were common, and many Orc, Goblin, and Felher icons were marked. Arian found that the sight of such wanton disfigurement strongly affected him after his talk with Durek: while he was no stranger to war and its destruction the sight of the ruination of simple decorations that represented loving work by young Dwarves whiling away the spare minutes of tedious duties greatly offended him. It was as if the memories and dreams of those young Dwarves were being profaned.
It took just over an hour to traverse the argalt, although it was an easy march after all the tunnel-slogging they had had to do to get there. Arian realized that they had left the factory-area with its tightly-intertwined work areas and storage chambers when they entered a broad passage with neatly squared walls from which no side-tunnels or rooms opened; this grand corridor turned sharply to the right and left at regular intervals, for defense the monk realized: each turn was a point where a small group could delay a foe, and no stretch of hall was longer than the distance a fully armored Dwarf could cover in one hard run. He suspected that the bland, undecorated walls hid sniper’s posts and murder holes as well.
This dog-legging hallway was a quarter-mile long, terminating in a hollow fault whose bottom was thirty feet below. Across the fifteen feet width of the fault was a portal which had been sealed with a portcullis and secured by obvious archer firing ports: an entrance into Gradrek Heleth proper. The portcullis was gone, disassembled and ported off by some ambitious looter, and the stonework around the archer’s ports defaced with rude (and surprisingly well drawn), suggestive art work. There had been a stone bridge connecting the corridor with the gate, but its fragments were a jumble in the fault’s bottom below. A crude bridge had replaced it, made from winch-chains supporting a roadway made from three large tables, two of which still had some of their legs attached.
The monk sadly eyed the ornate carving that swept around the edges of the tables as he walked across their boot-scarred surface, the warped and ageing boards creaking with each step. Below in the fault massive colonies of peton moss illuminated the jumbled slabs of the fallen bridge, rusting bits of junk, and a thick scattering of yellow objects, small drifts of which had accumulated here and there. Bones, he realized, the remains of Felher, Dark Threll, and their minions who had died storming the place.
The Badgers marched through the gate area, passing where two additional portcullises and the winching assemblies for the barriers had been before they had been looted. The guard area, perhaps fifty yards deep, had been just as efficiently looted as the factory areas, and even more defaced with Goblin and Orc carvings and painted graffiti.
Durek halted them just past the gate area. “Welcome to Gradrek Heleth; we’re in the city itself now, on the second cidhe, and it is extremely important that you stick together. You’ll see what I mean before long.”
The truth in the Captain’s words quickly became evident to Arian as the raiders marched deeper into the city. The argalt had been as functional as a sword blade, as compact as an ant mound, as open as a child’s thoughts. The city quarters, on the other hand, would drive a spider mad in its complexity. They moved down a broad hallway fully twenty feet wide and eight high (for a four-foot race, any ceiling higher than that which was needed for an overhand axe swing plus six inches was wasted space) which boasted twin cart tracks and numerous switching circles for reversing direction, but at times it was hard to remember that they were in a corridor, for side passages, large chambers, ramps going up or down, alcoves, and stairways studded both side walls with incredible profusion. To add to the sense of disorientation was the fact that nothing was laid out squarely with the compass points; the corridor they were in angled first this way, then that, turned here and there for no apparent reason. It was small wonder, the monk realized, that Durek had warned them about wandering: once lost in this maze, a man could spend his entire life down here and never find his way out.
Durek’s explanations about the misunderstood nature of Dwarven cities was readily apparent after the first hour: the cidhe was no ‘level’ of neat layout, but rather a tangled mass of passages, rooms, chambers, and vaults connected by ramps and stairways that would defy any Human concept of mapping upon paper. The monk was quickly appreciating why any invasion of the place would quickly disintegrate into a bloody shambles even without secret defense works and traps; imagining himself as part of an invasion force intending to secure this cidhe, Arian mentally created a Goblin Lardina of fifteen hundred warriors and supporting war-creatures and placed himself in command. As they travelled through the city he mentally assigned detachments to secure key intersections and to cover likely ramps or staircases, dispatched raid forces into specific areas for loot and hostages, garrisoned a fallback defensive position in a large warehouse complex, and set out scouting patrols, only to find that, even without envisioning any combat, he had hopelessly dispersed his entire force without traversing a third of the area.
The city area was brightly lit by colonies of peton moss growing in wall-channels set at the six foot mark in most walls. The pillars of larger and higher-roofed chambers were banded with such channels every eight feet, and fixtures indi
cated where moss-baskets had hung where the wall-channels might not have provided enough light, although few of the baskets remained. Vents cut into the living stone kept the air moving, avoiding the development of pockets of poisonous gases and ‘dead air’ that were such a danger underground. Here and there fountains still threw water into the air, and nearly every intersection had simple water spouts sending a steady flow of water into a basin for any passerby’s use.
During the first rest stop Arian asked Durek about the air and water flows. “Water’s a constant problem down here, usually too much rather than too little, as flooding is a deadly peril. The few times a Dwarven hold has fallen completely, it usually was taken by diverting major water-flows into the upper areas and letting it drain through to the bottom, wreaking havoc along the way. We’ve all the winter and spring runoffs to contend with, plus any number of underground streams and rivers, and nearly every city is near one or more glaciers for additional water if they need it. We use gravity for the most part, although enchantments aren’t uncommon. As for the ventilation, it’s a combination of engineering and enchantment. We ‘flute’ a mountain, drill holes and vents to the outside surface that channel the high winds, which pushes air for long distances underground. Enchantments that allow the air pressure to instantly cross long stretches of ground without losing force are also used. But the biggest source of clean air is the peton moss and similar plants we raise for food: they drink in the poisons we breathe out, and let off clean air in return. The same thing for chimneys: some are vented outside or into unused faults or chasms, but most are simply vented into soot-rooms where baffles and pools of water keep them from leaking back into living and working areas. Of course, periodically we have to go in and clean them out, but the carbon is useful for many things.”
“It would seem that managing a Dwarven city is a complex task,” the monk observed thoughtfully.
