Expansion - Chapter 17

 

Brammir – Legion Pulls Back

The miners are lined up, ready to return to the mine. Most of the morning was spent cleaning and sharpening tools. When the Work‑Start Bell sounded, they expected to see the Legion and the engineer return. When that didn’t happen, they stacked their equipment and waited. Deep‑Meal Bell came and went. Now they stand in formation again, ready for the Legion to return and for the Work‑Resumption Bell to chime.

“What’s taking so long,” Dorgun mutters.

“Maybe they found traps,” Fenrik says.

“No one said anything about traps,” Jorvik answers, voice firm.

“First spiders, and a dead engineer,” Fenrik adds quickly.

“That’s only rumors,” Thrain says, trying to keep the line steady.

“Not the engineer’s death,” Brammir says quietly. “He was a friend of Brenna’s. The engineer we have. She told me about it.”

A runner appears from the western tunnel connecting Bimadizi‑Kor’s main cavern to the worksite and the mine. He doesn’t stop — just sprints straight down into the mine.

“I wonder what that’s about,” Dorgun says.

Moments later, the marching boots of the Legion echo up from the mine. The soldiers emerge in formation, faces tight. Brenna follows them and goes straight to Jorvik.

“The mines are clear,” she says. “The Legion’s been recalled, and I’m returning with them. If you need anything else, request me again.”

Before Jorvik can respond, Brenna turns and follows the larger group of Legionnaires as they march toward the western tunnel. A smaller team breaks off and approaches Jorvik.

“We will remain behind. Guild orders,” the Legionnaire says. “You may enter the mines. We’ll set up in the empty cubbies.”

Jorvik nods once. “Very well. Miners, let’s go. We have work to do.”

With lamps held high and picks on their shoulders, the miners enter the mine.

Along the tunnel walls, chalk marks and measurement notes are scrawled in fresh strokes.

“Why’d they check the tunnel?”

“We widened it ourselves.”

“Don’t trust our work?”

“Guild checking up.”

“Why pull out the Legion?”

“Why leave a group of them?”

“Enough chatter,” Jorvik says. “We have work to do.”

They set their lamps and move to their stations — some to their veins, others to the pulley train leading toward the smelter.

“How do we know if anyone’s manning the smelter,” someone asks.

“Let’s send a runner,” Jorvik says. “Fenrik — go to the smelter. Tell them we’re back to work. Everyone else, you’ve got carts to fill and seams to follow.”

The song of picks and shovels rings through the air, punctuated by the drum‑beat thud of ore piling into carts. The rhythm holds steady until Fenrik returns, breathing hard and trying to catch his breath. He blurts out, rapid and panicked:

“Smelter’s cold. Legion’s doing something. Half a dozen gobbler bodies lined up on the wall. The rest are gone.”

Jorvik shouts, “Crew, halt!”

The miners freeze mid‑swing. Fenrik takes a long pull from a water flask.

“Alright, boy,” Jorvik says. “Slowly. Tell me what you saw. Everyone, come in and listen. Sounded like he said the smelter was cold.”

The miners gather around, lamps casting long shadows on the tunnel walls.

Fenrik takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

“The smelter is cold. No one’s there. The Legion’s doing something with big machines — smelled like smoke — heading west. I saw gobbler bodies lined up along a wall, and the holding area’s empty. Didn’t see any Guild. I didn’t stay. Came back as quick as I could.”

“Let’s pack up and head to camp. Maybe the Legion or Elder Hadrik will know what happened.”

They gather their equipment and line up. As they go, the whispers start.

“Dead gobblers?”

“I thought they were relocating them.”

“Send them to the River people.”

“Dead’s not the kind of release I’d heard.”

“Engines of smoke?”

“Going west, not east?”

“Gobblers attacking?”

“Enough of that,” Jorvik says. “Stop with the rumors. Let’s ask those that might know.”

“Probably lie to us.”

“Or worse — Varnen might know.”

“Gives me the creeps.”

Brammir just listens to it all, wishing he were with Brenna. ‘She’d know’, he thinks.

Expansion - Chapter 16

 

Brikel – Mapping Waste Pits

On the way to the Dining Hall for Stone‑Breath, Thavrin stops Brikel. “I need you to finish what Mardek started. Can you do that?”

Brikel pauses. “I can, but what about—”

A deep rumble shakes the western road.

The engineers turn as large Legion machines roll past: carts stacked with barrels of oil, casks marked flammable, hoses coiled like snakes, bellows strapped to the sides.

Thavrin gestures toward them. “They’ll be using the tunnels you mapped as a staging area to clear out the spiders.”

Brikel nods, understanding immediately. “All right. Is Durnek helping me?”

“Yes. We need both of you out of your previous areas.”

Brikel glances at the machines again. “Are we getting masks? If they’re burning webs, the smoke will spread everywhere.”

“Before they start, I’ll have Korrvin give me an airflow plan,” Thavrin says. “I’ll tell the Legion to wait until we have that.” He turns and heads toward the Senior Legionnaires.

 

In the dining hall, Brikel grabs a plate and moves down the line as the cooks fill it. At the table, there’s a gap where Mardek usually sat.

Helka steps behind him and murmurs, “I know. I miss him too.”

“Worse,” Brikel says quietly, “Thavrin asked Durnek and me to finish mapping the waste pits.”

The engineers already seated look up — surprise, sympathy, and grim understanding passing between them.

Brikel sits and looks to Korrvin. “Thavrin needs an airflow diagram. The Legion brought machines for the spider warren.”

Korrvin shovels food into his mouth. “All right. Let me finish, then I’ll get started.”

“Which machines?” Olma asks.

Brikel shrugs. “Large carts with barrels and casks, bellows and hoses. All marked flammable. Thavrin said we’ll get masks.”

Thavrin enters with Elder Bromvek and a Senior Legionnaire. The rest of the Legion lines up behind them. Once the leadership dishes up, they sit together instead of with their people — unusual enough that the hall quiets a little.

Brikel tries to listen, but they focus on eating.

As he finishes his plate, he feels a hand on his shoulder.

Hadrun. “I’m sorry I won’t be working with you today.”

Brikel stands and shakes his hand. “Be safe. I heard some of your men were hurt yesterday.”

“Not our team, but thank you.” Hadrun squeezes his hand firmly. “We’ll be supporting the machines. Hopefully when we finish, we’ll be reassigned to you.”

“Hopefully.” Brikel smiles.

On his way to the wash basin, Elder Bromvek calls to him. “I’m sorry I haven’t had time to speak with you. If you need, I’ll be in the chapel — or an acolyte will arrive later if you want to discuss Mardek.”

Brikel gives a sad smile. “Thank you, Elder. I’ll reach out if I need.” He nods and continues to the basin.

 

Durnek and Brikel lay out their equipment and plan how to map the waste‑pits chamber. They bring all their standard ropes, chalk, and slates, plus extra metal rods and long hooks. They check the specialized low‑heat, high‑light lamps, then their grum‑tals so they can keep accurate time. The last things they unpack are their filter masks, gloves, and non‑skid boots.

“We should have done this for Mardek,” Durnek says quietly.

Brikel nods. “Yeah. But when we were new, how did we learn?”

Durnek gives a slow, sad chuckle. “My brothers wouldn’t let me into the clan hall after I had to clean out the compost beds on one of the clan farms. My father made me eat in the courtyard while I explained which tools would’ve worked better than climbing into the pit in mid‑summer.”

Brikel smiles faintly. “It was the waste canal that was blocked for me. I had to unclog it.”

They both pause.

“But we should have done better for Mardek,” Durnek says.

“Yeah,” Brikel answers. “This is a long way from the Clan Halls.”

 

Working together, they slowly and carefully measure everything starting at the opening to the cavern. Using rods and small hammers, they test the edges of the pit and find multiple pits in the gently sloping floor. They record distances, depths, and even flow times once they clear the connecting channels.

“Like a combination of our waste and compost systems,” Durnek says, his voice muffled by the protective mask.

“Yeah. I’d like to have Olmra look at this and the fungi farm,” Brikel replies.

He glances toward the southern wall—just in time to see dark, black smoke roll through the lower ventilation tubes.

“Now what?” Durnek mutters.

They both move back toward the entrance, careful and deliberate. Smoke continues to push in. The high vents pull some of it upward, but more keeps rolling through the low tubes, thick and oily.

They both note the time automatically, then gather their equipment.

“That’ll displace all the air,” Brikel says.

“They’re trying to kill us all,” Durnek remarks as they head back toward the main chamber of Stone‑Root Hearth.

Black smoke pours out of every tunnel. Engineers move as quickly as they can, searching for breathable air. The community vents draw the smoke upward, but it is thick, choking, and everywhere. They congregate near the Chapel, removing masks, wiping their faces, checking on each other.

The Legion drags several of their own out—men overcome by smoke.

“Idiots,” Yivra says, stylus still in her hand.

The Senior Legionnaire looks over his coughing, soot‑covered men. “When the smoke clears, remove the engines and return to Durnbim Hold.”

“The Legion is retreating,” Durnek whispers.

“Apparently so,” Yivra answers.

“What’s next,” Korvik coughs.

“We wait until the smoke clears,” Brikel says glumly.

Expansion - Chapter 15

 

15 – Helvar – Replaced

Helvar chimes the Bell marking Stone‑Waking. Entering the Chapel, he lays out the daily reading for Elder Dorgath, then checks on him. “Good morning, Elder. Will you need my help today, or should I continue assessing the needs of those we are relocating?”

Elder Dorgath looks up from his wash basin. “We received disturbing news last night from Root‑Stone Hearth. An engineer died. Can you ask them what they know about the area?”

“How did he die?”

“Ask the Senior Legionnaire on duty. He should have the official report.” The elder dries his face. “I shouldn’t need your help outside your official duties. You may go.”

“Thank you, Elder.” Helvar bows and leaves the chapel.

At the stone‑block building used by the Legion and the Guild, a scroll is posted by the door outlining new guard shift orders. A Legionnaire sits at the desk filling out a barkskin for the morning report.

“Senior Peacekeeper,” Helvar says politely.

The man looks up and taps the stylus against his rank mark. “Slate‑Leader, you mean.”

Helvar smiles. “Of course. Sometimes I forget.” He pauses. “I turned in my reports from yesterday’s questionings. Is there anything new I need to ask?”

The Slate‑Leader eyes Helvar’s brown acolyte robes with suspicion. “I haven’t been told anything. Though if you’re going to question any, I recommend you do it soon.”

Helvar nods. “Thank you, Slate‑Leader.”

He glances at the posted scroll. Two squads have been reassigned to tunnels previously marked as cleared. Something happened and things are changing.

He goes to his small office, gathers his notes, and has Nokom‑Shaad brought to the ‘room of questions’. He fills the teapot and grabs two cloth cups—he doesn’t want his earthenware mug today.

He arranges the room carefully. His heart is pounding. Even with changes, he must remain calm.

Nokom‑Shaad is brought to the doorway. Helvar nods for the guard to release her.

She smiles when she sees him and softly asks in Mishikwe, “How is Animishi‑wini today?”

Helvar allows himself a small smile at the nickname the Protectors have given him ‘Bringer-of-tea’. He motions for her to sit and hands her a cloth cup of warm root‑tea.

“Have you heard any news?” he asks as he pours his own cup.

“Only the rumor that feral spiders were disturbed.” She almost smiles.

“Is there something amusing about that?”

“You’re Bimkor. You know spiders need farmers to keep them calm and fed. Many months have passed since our border farms and warrens were tended. What do you think would happen?”

Helvar makes a note. “So, this wasn’t a trap laid by a Protector or border guard? Someone like you or Miiwan—Miiwan Wishka‑mii?”

“Spiders go wild like any animal left untended.” She sips. “And I think you misread your notes. Shaat‑Miiwan. Or did you mean another border guard?”

Helvar writes quickly. “What patrols have you walked with him?”

“Oh, more than once. We did the Grand Market together. I remember one time—”

The door opens.

A broad dwarf in a crisp Legion uniform enters, flanked by two Legionnaires. His rank insignia gleams.

“Stop what you are doing. Now.” He places a firm hand on Nokom’s shoulder. “I am Stone‑Captain Dargun Flint‑Reeve.”

He looks at Helvar with open disdain.

“Acolyte, your services to the Legion are no longer required. Return to your Priest.” The last word is delivered like an insult.

Helvar begins, “But I’m to—” He stops himself. “Of course, Stone‑Captain. You are correct. May I take my notes and finalize them for this morning’s report?”

Dargun glances at the barkskins written in Mishikwe and scowls. “Take them. Get out of here and translate them into proper runes.” He jerks his chin at one of his escorts. “Remove the teapot and anything else he brought.”

Helvar gathers his things quickly.

From the doorway, he hears Dargun continue in Durask: “You were a Protector. You speak Durask. You will answer my questions in Durask. Do you understand?”

Helvar closes his eyes briefly, then turns away. “A steel axe,” he mutters as he walks back to his office, “when a glass‑edged blade would do.”

He returns to the Chapel, intending to speak with Elder Dorgath. But as he reaches the doorway, he hears voices inside — sharp, clipped, and unmistakably angry.

A Guild official stands with a senior Legionnaire, both speaking to the Elder. “We know your man was getting answers,” the Guild official says, “but they were too slow. We have a dead engineer, injured Legionnaires, and a complete shutdown of all mining tunnels. All your man has done is confirm who needed to be removed from the herd before relocation.”

Helvar freezes just outside the threshold, unseen.

The Legion officer adds, “Yes, this is a matter for the Legion now. We’ll get the answers we need. Your man couldn’t even discover the traps before they were encountered.”

“But luckily,” the Guild official continues, “he did help keep the trap‑maker separate from the others.”

Trap‑maker? 

Helvar’s blood runs cold. Miiwan.

He steps back silently, heart pounding. He leaves the Chapel and moves into the courtyard, just in time to see Legionnaires pulling the Protectors out of the larger group of detainees.

He approaches one of the Legionnaires. “Where are you taking them?”

“Segregated holding,” the Legionnaire replies without emotion.

Helvar’s eyes shift toward the small cell where Miiwan has been kept. Two Legionnaires are escorting him away. Helvar steps closer. “Where are they taking him?”

“The wall,” the Legionnaire says matter‑of‑factly. “Make an example of him.”

Helvar inhales slowly, forcing his expression to remain calm. He turns away and walks back to his office. “I can’t change anything,” he whispers to himself. “Just do what’s required.”

He finishes his morning report with steady hands — the handwriting precise, controlled, betraying none of his frustration.

With the slates in hand, he returns to Elder Dorgath. “Elder,” Helvar says softly, “I have completed my duties. Because things have changed, may I request something?”

“Of course, Helvar. You’ve served well. It isn’t your fault the Guild and the Legion want to use their own people.”

“You have other acolytes here,” Helvar continues. “May I go to Root‑Stone Hearth and assist with prayers and the needs of those grieving?”

“That is an excellent idea,” the Elder says, relieved. “But I don’t think the Legion can provide you an escort.”

“I don’t require one, Elder. Durn provides the true path for the faithful. I do not fear walking in tunnels when I have His words and laws.”

The old Priest smiles warmly at such a devout answer. “Yes, you may go. I will give you a slate reassigning you to assist Elder Bromvek.”

“Thank you. Durn’s blessings be upon you, Elder.” Helvar bows, accepts the slate, and leaves the Chapel.

As he packs and deposits his morning report slates, he gives every dwarf who sees him a polite, serene smile — the smile of a dutiful acolyte hiding his anger and frustration.

Expansion - Chapter 14

 

14 – Brammir – Work stops and Rumors

He awakens to the sound of marching boots. “Did I miss Forge-Breath?” Brammir asks aloud.

From the cubby nearby he hears Dorgin say “Stone-Waking didn’t even chime yet.”

Brammir quickly dresses to see what’s going on, and he apparently isn’t the only one. Sleepy-eyes and unbraided beards watch from their cubbies as a full squad of the Legion of Stone reports to Elder Hadrik. His acolyte Varnen stands quietly with the hammer to ring the bell in his hand.

The Legion team that accompanied Brenna, dresses and joins the group in the courtyard, as Varnen rings the Chapel announcing Ember-Spark.

Even though the miners all threw on clothing, they all head for washroom.

“What’s going on?”

“Why the Legion?”

“Maybe’ll hear during Forge-Breath.”

“Is it related to your engineer?”

A new voice to the group remarks, “I didn’t call for the Legion. I expected to return back to Root-Stone Hearth.”

They look at Brenna as she joins them to wash up, and they make room around the basins and pumps.

A moment later,  Varnen quietly approaches, “Brenna Stone-Arc, Elder Hadrik and the Senior Legionnaire would like to speak with you.” He then looks to Jorvik “this involves the Mining Guild too, can you join us.”

Jorvik quickly finishes washing his face but only dries his beard. “If it’s Guild business, I’m coming.”

As they leave, the whispers start up.

“Guild Business?”

“A full squad of the Legion?”

“I don’t like Varnen, he’s always so cheerful but quiet.”

“You don’t like that he looks like he’s never held a pick.”

“His only hammer is the one for the Bell.”

A small ripple of laugher, nervously moves through the group.  

 

The Chapel bell rings again to signal Forge-Breath, and the miners grab their plates, quickly sitting around the table. The Legion now occupies the area where a second shift of miners would sit. The cooks have the miner’s normal morning meal on their table, but the Legion’s table is filled with travel rations. Everyone sits waiting for Elder Hadrik and the rest.

When the small group enters, the Legionnaires all stand up as one, and remain standing until the Senior Legionnaire motions for them to regain their seats. Elder Hadrik looks around the room and clears his throat. “Slate-Leader Valgard, has an announcement.” He then turns and nods to him.

Still standing, he unrolls the scroll in his hand. “By order of the Unified Guilds, the miners of this worksite are to remain here until the tunnels have been verified as safe. Engineer Brenna Stone-Arc will work with the Legion of Stone as we verify that your mines have not been tampered with.”

Brenna is also still standing. She nods but her eyes look damp.

Jorvik takes the scroll from Valgard “I’ll post this by the Chapel after we eat.”

Valgard nods and looks to Elder Hadrik “Do you want to offer your blessing?”

Hadrik nods. “Please bow your heads. Durn, as he keep your laws and commands, please watch over us. Protect the souls of those who were lost, guide the hands of those who protect, and bless all of us as we follow your will.”

They then sit. Brenna and Jorvik sit with the miners.

“What’s all that about?” Brammir whispers to Brenna.

“I’ll tell you in a bit. Let me eat first.” She quietly says and puts a little on her plate.

 The meal is quiet and tense as the miners glance at the Legion, eating quickly and efficiently. The sound of tin utensils on tin travel plates fills the air.

Jorvik looks at the folks at their table, “After we finish, let’s all spend a little time doing tool maintenance. I think a few of you mentioned you’d like time to clean and sharpen things. We have it.”

As they swallow food or sip from their mugs, they all nod. “Of course.”

Slate-Leader Valgard stands up. “Assemble outside. We’ll leave soon.”

Almost as one the legion gathers up their travel kits and lines up at the wash basin. Quickly rinsing and drying them, they pack them and line up.

“Impressive.”

Brammir nods. Brenna gets up. “I need to check my equipment.” She says as she lines up to clean her plate too.

Brammir looks at the food still on his plate. He looks to Fenrik, whose plate is always empty. “Want it?” Fenrik holds his plate out and Brammir scrapes the food onto his, then gives a sad grin and gets in line behind Brenna.

“Did you get bad news?” He asks quietly.

She nods. “I’ll tell you as I gather my stuff.”

“I can help. I’ve got nowhere else to go today.” He says with the same sad smile as earlier.

 

As Brenna lays out her measuring ropes, Brammir helps hold one end as she rolls them. “So, what happened?” he quietly asks.

As she secures each roll, she replies, “The Legion is here because…”she blinks back tears, “Mardek died.” She pauses and wipes her eyes.

“Were you close to him?”

“Not really. He was our junior surveyor.” She picks up her lamp. “But he showed so much promise. He was our runner.” She slowly fills her lamps from the larger oil flask. “He was so eager to do a chamber on his own.” She wipes the excess off the lamp with a rag. “We had him do a waste chamber.”

“How did he die?” Brammir asks.

“They said he fell and drowned.” She answers filling her grum‑tal.  “He should have been more careful.”

He moves closer. “Is it possible he fell into a trap?”

She pauses “Maybe, why do you ask?”

“My brother Helmir was killed by border scouts.”

Her brows knit in confusion. “I thought border guards captured people and returned them to Peacekeepers?”

“Helmir was part of a group of non-guild miners looking for ore. They captured them.” He pauses and swallows. “They sliced his throat, and shot an arrow through his hand.”

She places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “When I return, can we talk more later?”

He nods as a legionnaire approaches. “Engineer, are you ready?”

She stands up, putting her ropes on her shoulders, her lamps in one hand and her metal probe in the other. “Yes. I am.”

Brammir watches as she goes with the Legion into the mine, and grabs his equipment to clean and sharpen.

Expansion - Chapter 13

 

13 – Brikel – Other Tunnels

“I hate mapping Waste Pits,” Mardek says as he digs into his Forge‑Breath meal.

“You hated being used as a runner and begged to be put on mapping duty,” Helka replies without looking up.

Thavrin hides a smile behind his mug.

“All of you are laughing at me,” Mardek mutters.

“Not at all,” Yivra says. “Every junior surveyor does the dirty work first.”

“Had to crawl through waste tunnels to map blockages,” Broddik adds.

A round of nods follows.

Durnek clears his throat. “Thavrin… my next chamber looks to be full of silk. Should I request a Legion team, or go straight to the Senior Legionnaire?”

A hush settles over the table.

“How much silk?” Thavrin asks.

“I couldn’t tell. The whole entrance is choked. I’d need to cut into it to see anything.”

Yivra frowns. “That’s the chamber north of where Brikel’s working.” She turns to him. “Have you mapped the north‑facing tunnel yet?”

Brikel shakes his head. “Not yet. Four tunnels left. I was going to start with whichever one showed the most wear.”

Thavrin wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’ve already got a Legion team. Keep them with you and take the north tunnel. If you hit silk, have your team clear a way in.”

Helka raises an eyebrow. “Clear how? Axes barely cut it.”

“Burning works,” Fenrik offers.

“Burning sometimes works,” Korvik mutters. “Depends on how thick it is. And how fresh.”

Thavrin nods. “Use lamps first. Heat softens the outer layers. If you must cut, do it slow. Don’t strike hard—vibrations carry.”

The table goes quiet again.

Everyone knows what that means.

“If there are spiders,” Thavrin continues, “the light and noise should keep them back long enough to get a look. Don’t go deep. Just enough to map the entrance.”

He turns to Durnek. “I’ll request a dedicated Legion team for your chamber. If it’s as choked as you say, we’ll need more than surveyors poking at it.”

Durnek exhales in relief.

Brikel glances at his own notes, then at the lamps hanging along the dining hall wall.

Silk.

Spiders.

And four unmapped tunnels.

He suddenly wishes he were back in Coppervein Reach, where the stone behaves itself and nothing alive waits above your head.

 

Brikel shakes his head as he walks in the center of the Legion team. The sound of the stone‑clackers from the rear-guard echoes sharply off the tunnel walls, each click bouncing back in uneven rhythms. The larger brass lamps—mounted on long poles and carried by the others—throw harsh white light ahead of them, turning the cleared tunnel into a bright, noisy procession.

It is the opposite of how he prefers to work.

“Wait here,” Hadrun commands as they reach the rope tunnel‑seals his men placed earlier. He checks each one with practiced efficiency—tug, twist, listen—before cutting the final seal on the northern tunnel and coiling the rope over his shoulder.

“Light team, move forward.”

The Legionnaires step ahead, raising their pole‑lamps to flood the passage with light. Hadrun turns to Brikel.

“Are you ready to measure and mark?”

Brikel nods and lights his grum‑tal. The regulated‑burn lamp glows with a steady amber flame—soft compared to the Legion’s blinding lamps, but perfect for close work. He begins making notes, marking distances, angles, and the subtle shifts in stone texture.

The clackers behind him are maddening. Each sharp click disrupts his concentration, but he forces himself to focus on the task.

They move steadily until the tunnel narrows and the air grows still. The light ahead hits something pale and dense.

A wall of spider‑silk.

Brikel lifts his lamp. The silk is thick—layered, dusty, and stretched tight across the tunnel like a woven barricade.

“This is as far as we can go for now,” he says quietly.

“Fall back to the chamber,” Hadrun orders. Then he steps forward, cups his hands around his mouth, and shouts toward the silken wall:

“Cut‑and‑Burn Team! We’re at the tunnel mouth. Should be your south side!”

For a moment, there is only silence.

Then, through the dense silk, a voice answers—so muffled it sounds like someone speaking through a pillow:

“Working…!”

The sound vibrates faintly through the webbing.

 Muffled screams rip through the silk.

“Pull back! Pull back!”

The sound is distorted, swallowed by the dense webbing — but unmistakably scared. A moment later, high‑pitched hisses and rapid, staccato squeaks echo through the tunnel. Brikel’s blood runs cold. He has never heard spiders, but every instinct tells him what those sounds mean.

“Men, fall back to the other tunnels!” Hadrun barks.

The Legionnaires don’t wait. They retreat at a near‑run, abandoning the clackers entirely. The only sounds are their boots on stone and the harsh rasp of their breathing. Brikel brings up the rear, clutching his equipment, trying not to imagine what is happening behind the silk wall.

 

Back in Root‑Stone Hearth, he forces himself to steady his hands long enough to update his map. Only when the lines are clean and the measurements are correct does he carry his notes to Yivra.

 As he approaches the map room, he hears shouting — distant, frantic — from the tunnel complex where Durnek’s team is working. The echoes bounce strangely, making it impossible to tell how many voices there are.

Yivra takes the slates from him, scanning them quickly. “Good. Thank you.” Then she frowns. “Brikel… can you check on Mardek? He’s working alone in the waste chamber. With all this noise, I expected him back early.”

Brikel nods. “I’ll find him.”

He grabs his lamp and rope and heads toward the waste tunnels. The air grows warmer, thicker. The smell hits him first — damp rot, compost heat, the earthy musk of worms and fungal decay. The slow, humid draft carries it like a living thing.

“Mardek!” Brikel calls. “Let’s finish up early. They’ve got trouble with spiders — we’re packing up for the day.”

No answer.

He moves deeper, lamp held high. The light glints off wet stone and the slick sheen of decomposing matter. The compost chamber opens before him, a wide, uneven pit with a deceptively dry crust stretched across its surface like brittle skin.

“Mardek?” he calls again.

Then he sees him.

Face‑down. Motionless. Half‑submerged in the crust.

Brikel’s breath catches. He rushes forward — then stops just short of the edge. The crust is fractured around Mardek’s body, the dark slurry beneath still shifting with slow, sickening bubbles.

“He knew better,” Brikel whispers, anger and fear twisting together.

He spots the long metal rod Mardek had been using and snatches it up. Kneeling, he taps the crust around the pit — listening for hollows, mapping the edges by sound. The crust is thin, treacherous. One wrong step and he’ll join Mardek.

“You fool,” he mutters, voice cracking.

He hooks the rod under Mardek’s arm and pulls. The body comes free with a wet, sucking sound. Brikel drags him onto solid stone, then drops to his knees beside him.

“Mardek. Mardek, come on.” He tries to clear the airway, tries to breathe for him, tries anything — but the heat and fumes of the compost pit have already done their work.

With a mixture of sadness and anger, Brikel lifts the young dwarf onto his shoulders. His boots echo in the tunnels, each step heavier than the last. Tears blur the lamplight, but he keeps walking, all the way back to Root‑Stone Hearth.

 

Expansion - Chapter 12

 

12 – Helvar – Miiwan Again

Helvar watches from his office as bladders of watered milk are delivered to the goblins along with the Forge‑Breath meals. He sips his mug of sikah‑nahkaw‑mihtaa and glances toward the single holding cells. For now, Miiwan is the only one inside, but soon they’ll have to place all six Protectors there — and anyone else the Legion marks as khaz‑drulik, a troublemaker.

He tells the Legionnaire to bring Miiwan to the Frag‑durkan, the Questioning‑room. Helvar sets the chamber as usual, including the small pot of root-tea. This time, he adds a covered bundle of treats to the basket he keeps beneath his stool.

When Miiwan enters, Helvar stands and motions for him to sit, offering a cloth cup of tea.

Miiwan smiles as he fills it, the chains on his wrists clanking softly against the stone table. “Why am I being kept separate?” he asks.

“For your protection,” Helvar replies. “The Legion has marked you. We’re keeping you apart for your safety. I’ll soon have to do the same for Veshka and the rest.”

“They are Protectors of the people,” Miiwan says, irritation creeping into his voice.

“But you’re not. Why were you wearing body paint and silk when you were captured?”

Miiwan looks down at the blue wool outfit the Legion issued him. “No. I was wearing the wool and linens of a Tunnel Keeper. A Stone‑Listener.”

“I’ve always heard tunnel keepers work in teams,” Helvar says, leaning back.

“They do — I mean, we do.” He hesitates. “I got separated from them. Lost.”

Helvar places the wrapped bundle on the table. “Lost in a tunnel? How does a stone‑listener get lost in a tunnel he’s maintaining?”

Miiwan’s eyes flick back and forth as he searches for an answer.

Helvar unwraps the bundle, revealing squares of Stone‑Honey Crumble. He picks one up and inhales its warm, grainy aroma. “Freshly made by the cooks.”

He takes a slow bite.

“I’d offer you one,” he says, “but I’m having trouble believing you today. I can’t give a treat to someone who isn’t honest with me.”

Miiwan’s gaze lingers on the cut squares. “Okay. I wasn’t lost. But I got separated from my team.”

“How many were in your team? What are their names?” Helvar lifts his stylus.

Miiwan hesitates again.

Helvar sighs. “I should wrap these up and put them away. I’ll have the Legionnaire take you back.”

“No—wait.” After a long pause, he says, “I was alone. I wasn’t part of a team.”

“Then why were you wearing body paint and silk?”

Miiwan chews his lower lip.

Helvar softens his voice. “Here. Have a square.” He hands one over.

Miiwan takes a bite and washes it down with tea.

“Not quite Glow‑Moss Cakes, but close,” Helvar says quietly.

Miiwan nods, making a small, involuntary sound of pleasure as he takes another bite.

“Now,” Helvar says, “why were you wearing body paint?”

Over time, he draws out more answers. Some are lies. Some are half‑truths. He writes them all down for now.

When they finish, Helvar says, “If you like, I can ask the cook to make some of these for the rest of your people. They haven’t had any treats.”

“Please do that. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m getting something special.”

“Of course not. See you tomorrow.” Helvar calls the Legionnaire to escort him back.

In his notes, he writes:

‘Still don’t know real name. Not a tunnel‑keeper. No‑tools story is false. Likely former border scout. Responds well to idea of being returned to group.’

He closes the barkskin and finishes the last of the treats.

Expansion - Chapter 11

 

Brammir – Strange Tools

He keeps turning the piece of antler over and over in his hand. Eventually, Brammir walks over to Brottan’s cubby.

Knocking on the stone‑framed doorway, he says, “Brottan, can you take a look at this?”

Brottan looks up from the small table where he’s polishing a set of game pieces. A karn‑stone board sits on the edge of the table. His beard is still braided in the loose, forked pattern favored by lone‑wolves. It reminds Brammir of his brother.

“What do you have?” Brottan asks.

Brammir hands him the antler fragment.

“It looks like part of an antler wedge,” Brottan says immediately. “Were there other ones like it? Or wooden ones?”

“I saw pieces of wood, but didn’t think anything about it.”

“I’ve seen them before,” Brottan says, turning the antler over in his fingers. “They put wedges into cracks, then pour water. The wedges swell and split the ore from the rock around it.”

“What are these marks?” Brammir asks.

“Probably the name of the maker.” Brottan smiles faintly. “Or the clan. Hard to say.”

Brammir takes the piece back and studies it again. “Why don’t they just use picks and shovels like we do? Seems like a lot of waiting to do the same thing we just muscle through.”

Brottan shrugs. “I really don’t know. Just a different way of mining. Besides, like we said this morning — why take time to make tools when you already have other ways to do it?”

He goes back to polishing the pebbles for the game.

“Do you want help doing that?” Brammir asks. “And then maybe play you a round?”

“Sure.” Brottan hands him a rough polishing cloth.   

 

The next day, as Brammir works the seam, every time he takes a water break he picks through the debris and sets aside anything that isn’t stone. By Deep‑Meal bell, he’s gathered a small pile of wood and bone. He even finds a few charred pieces of wood.

“None of this makes sense,” he mutters, staring at the odd little heap.

His ore cart stands waiting for him to fill it.

“Stop it,” he says aloud. “You’re a miner, not a surveyor. Fill the cart, earn your coins, and do what the Guild says.”

He grabs his pick and forces himself back into the rhythm:

Swing. Hit. Swing. Hit. Break. Pick up. Swing. Hit…

The only thing that breaks his determination is the echo of the Chapel bell calling him for meal breaks.

When the day ends, Brammir looks at the deep gouges he’s carved into the ore seam and the untouched rock around it. “Tomorrow I’ll have to dig out the area around it,” he sighs. “I’d better have an engineer check the area first.”

 

During Forge‑Breath, the miners hear marching boots entering the campsite. They look toward the western tunnel as three Legionnaires emerge, lamps held high, escorting a female engineer. Her measuring ropes, tool bag, and the long case for her probes make her purpose obvious.

She heads straight for the dining area, scanning for the oldest miner. “Hi. I’m Brenna Stone‑Arc. I’m the replacement engineer.”

Jorvik nods and points toward Brammir. “He asked for you. If you’re hungry, you’ll need to eat quick.”

Brenna crosses to Brammir and extends her hand. “I’m Brenna.”

He shakes it and shifts to make room at the bench.

“You don’t need to do that,” she says with a small smile. “My escorts and I ate before we left Root‑Stone Hearth. We’ll wait for you to finish.”

 

The Legionnaires join the line of miners as they head out. Two take the front, one brings up the rear with Brenna walking beside him. Once they reach the worksite, the Legionnaires step back and watch, letting the miners peel off to their assigned seams or to the ore train that runs up the long, low tunnel toward the smelter.

“Show me what you’ve got,” Brenna says to Brammir.

He places his lamp in the wall sconce and turns the wick up, flooding the small cave with as much light as he can. Brenna sets her own lamp on the floor, adding a second pool of brightness.

“What’s that over there?” she asks, pointing to the small pile of debris that is very clearly not stone.

“It’s wood and bone I found while mining,” Brammir says. “Some of the others think they’re leftover goblin tools.”

“Really?” Brenna kneels and picks through the pile. “Have you documented what you found and where?”

“No. I’m just a miner. What does it matter what goblins did or how they did it?”

She frowns at him. “Realistically, you’re right. But I work with people who could learn something from it.”

“That’s Bimkor talk,” Brammir warns. “Don’t let the Priests hear you say things like that.” He lowers his voice. “The Silent Hammers might hear you too.”

At the mention of them, Brenna’s expression tightens. She stands and focuses on the seam instead, taking measurements of the dug‑out area and soundings of the surrounding rock. Her notes come quickly, her sketches even faster.

“As you dig, leave this stone and form a column here,” she says, pointing. “And another one here. It’ll support the roof better as you continue.”

She glances back at the debris. “What do you plan on doing with this?”

“I’m not sure. For now, I’ll just keep it out of my way.”

Brammir takes his pick and begins carving the rock the way she suggested. Brenna steps back, refining her sketches as she watches him work.