The Collapsing Tunnel - Chapter 22

 

22 – Ana / Shaatka / Ashke / Mosek – Weaving Rivers

“No, Mosek — you have t’ tie the harness ‘round the rams like this.” The Hill Dwarf shepherd demonstrates patiently, looping the rope around the broad shoulders of the lead ram.

Mosek steps back, and the others watch as the friendly shepherd connects four rams to the cart, tying each rope to the harness rings that are built into the frame.

Shaatka leans toward Ashke and whispers in Mishikwe, “Have you ever seen this?”

“I’ve heard it mentioned,” Ashke murmurs. “A Peacekeeper in the Grand Market told me about the big animal pen near Merchant’s Lane. But I’ve never seen it with my own eyes.”

Mosek hears them and snorts. “And this is why I never use animals with a cart.”

The shepherd finishes his knots and turns to Mosek, speaking Durask with that rolling Hill accent. “I’m not sure what your friends are on about, but these sheep ‘ll pull ya' all th' way t’ the School. When you get there, tell ‘em these belong t’ Thrum Barleystone. They’ll get ‘em back t’ me.”

Mosek shakes his hand. “You’re sure you only want the truncheons, not the hammers?”

Thrum taps the wooden baton on the ground. “These are good. If I need t’ separate a ram from a ewe, these’ll do where I can’t use my crook.”  He points to Mosek’s staff strapped to the cart. “Ya' might want t’ use that. Sheep are used t’ seeing a staff or a crook. Helps guide them gentle‑like.”

Mosek unstraps it, and Thrum shows him a few basic motions. The rams respond immediately, moving slowly at first, then settling into a steady rhythm as they pull the cart.

Ana glances at the others. Still speaking Mishikwe, she says, “I’ll scout ahead. Make sure the way is clear.”

Both Protectors nod and give the hand sign for move safely.

“She’s quiet, that one,” Thrum remarks as Ana slips away, almost vanishing into the rocks. “I’d like someone like ‘er guarding my flock. Never have t’ worry about wolves or cave spiders.” He shakes Mosek’s hand again. “May Durn watch over your travels.”

“And may Bruna protect your flocks,” Mosek replies in the old Bimkor way.

 As they move through the foothills into the river valley, the rocky slopes and scrubby trees give way to stone fences and neat rows of orchard trees. An occasional farmer pauses in their work to wave — though more than one gives a startled stare at Shaatka’s body paint and the bow slung across her back.

After a while, she leans toward Ashke and murmurs in Mishikwe, “I should be ahead with Ana. It would look less strange.”

Ashke takes her hand and gives it a friendly squeeze. “Yes, because two camouflaged shadows slipping ahead of a merchant cart would look less suspicious than the two of us walking like proper guards.” His tone is light, teasing. Then he softens. “Besides, you move quietly, but you aren’t Aniniwiin Sukaniniwin. She’s uncomfortable in the open. Let her help in the way she knows best.”

Shaatka squeezes his hand back, her smile tinged with sadness. “She isn’t really Aniniwiin Sukaniniwin anymore. I saw the traps she set in the tunnels before we found you. She’s Sukanwin Nipihwin. the ‘Silent Killer’ they whisper about.”

 

The air grows damp as they descend into the river valley, a moisture unfamiliar to mountain lungs. The creak and splash of waterwheels echo across the orchards, adding to the strangeness. Stone fences replace rocky hills, and planted rows of fruit trees stretch toward the river.

Ahead, Ana spots a small group gathered beside a half‑built wall. A dwarf is speaking in heavily accented Mishikwe. “The stones must be cut and shaped first. The strength of the wall comes from how they fit together. I know your families tell you to look for natural shapes and stack them, but if you trim and shape them first — and add just a bit of mortar — when it dries, it will outlast your grandchildren.”

Ana steps into the road. “Excuse me, Master Stone‑Cutter. I’m leading a cart from Two Forges. Are you from Weaving River?”

The dwarf turns excitedly. “Two Forges! You made it out of the Mountain?”

He switches to Durask and calls a young apprentice. “Run and find Master Elowen. Tell her we’ve word from Two Forges.”

Then he turns back to Ana, extends his hand, and returns to Mishikwe. “I’m Master Dornel Stone‑Channel.”

Ana shakes it. “I’m Noonda Ashkwa Mishig. Ana to my friends.”

“Well, Ana, take a moment and tell me how you got here.”

She shakes her head. “I need to tell the others we’ve found you. I’ll be back.”

She slips into the shadows of the trees and walls. A young voice asks behind her.

“Master Dornel… was that a Silent Hunter?”

“When she returns, you can ask her yourself. Now — back to stone shaping.”

 

A few moments later, Ana sees the cart approaching. She picks up a small stone and taps it against the wall: ‘Found Friends’.

Shaatka asks Mosek for his staff, taps the wall in return: ‘Walk Open’, then hands it back.

Ana looks around. No threats. Only her companions. She steps into the center of the road and waits for them.

 

Soon, they are met by a group of Bimkor Masters and their apprentices. Mosek moves to the front. “We’ve brought trade goods from Two Forges,” he says. “We need to bring back food.”

A female dwarf steps forward, her beard braided with river‑stone beads. “I’m Master Elowen. Welcome. Let’s go to the School House. Rest, recover, and then we can discuss plans for your return.”

They all nod. Mosek and Ashke both let out a long, quiet breath — shoulders finally relaxing.

The Masters and apprentices all help unload the cart. Ashke leads the rams toward the pasture that Master Keshka Willow‑Thread directs him to.

 As each item is unpacked, Master Zhevi Ripple‑Tally inspects it, naming the craft and the maker’s technique with quick, precise words. Her partner, Master Rannic Half‑Current, stands beside her with the inventory slate, marking off each item and assigning its value with practiced ease.

Mosek watches. His fingers twitch with the urge to explain the craftsmanship, the hours of labor, the pride woven into each piece — the way he would in the Grand Market or a Clan Hall. But these are Masters of Trade. They evaluate honestly and fairly. That is all any trader can ask.

 Soon, Master Zhevi has her apprentices sorting the goods into neat bundles, each wrapped and labeled for the local markets.  “These will help us, especially now,” she says in river‑accented Mishikwe. “Without the Grand Market, Mountain goods are getting scarce.”

Master Rannic nods. “Which is why the value of this cart is almost double compared to last season.”

Master Elowen steps forward. “It is almost Low‑Sun. Find lodgings for our guests, then escort them to the Dining Hall. Rather than whispered gossip,”—she eyes a few of the younger apprentices—“I think we should share news openly, for all to hear.”  

Mosek and Ashke both smile and shake her hand.  “Thank you, Master,” Mosek says, using the formal trade phrasing of a visiting merchant. “We appreciate your hospitality and accept it in the spirit of friendship and openness in which it is offered.”

 The dining hall looks so different from Two Forges. Just as Ashke and Mosek had grown used to carved walls and pillars, this room greets them with shaped stone, metal fixtures, carved wooden beams, and real glass windows. Instead of a polished stone table, the long hall table is wooden, smooth from generations of plates and platters sliding across it.

The travelers sit where they are directed. Ana and Shaatka have washed the paint from their faces and hands, but left the body paint. It draws curious looks from students once they realize which markings are painted and which are silk. The lamp‑light is brighter than anything inside the Mountain, but dimmer than the outside world, so neither of them wears their eye protectors.

The room is filled with vaguely familiar smells — stews, fresh bread, roasted roots — but the similarities end there. The stew is River‑stew, rich with fish, onions, and herbs, which the Mountain travelers don’t recognize. It smells delicious, so each of them takes a small scoop and passes the bowl to the next person.  Master Elowen notices and smiles. “If you want more, feel free to fill your plates. We have plenty.”

Mosek nods and laughs. “Thank you. It may take time for our bellies to adjust to such rich fare.”

A Listener-of-Bruna rises. “Bruna and Durn, thank you for bringing these travelers and their goods safely to our home. We ask you to bless them for a safe return.” As he sits, many dwarves make the sign of Durn, and a few goblins tap Bruna’s blessing.

“Let us all eat,” Master Elowen says, lifting her mug of aged cider.

 

As the meal ends, the apprentices begin to rise for their evening duties, but Master Elowen motions for them to remain seated. She turns to Mosek. “We know of the Sealing of the Mountain, the closing of the Grand Market, and we’ve heard rumors of riots. What can you tell us?”

Ashke stands and recounts everything he witnessed. A cold gasp ripples through the hall at the news of the merchant who was hanged. Shaatka tells about the evacuation of one of the Bimkor communities, which draws even more gasps. Then Ana rises and, with visible effort to stay calm, describes the riot in the Hall of Disputes, her part in an evacuation, and the trapping of the border tunnels. As she sits, both Mosek and Ashke stare at her in surprise. They had suspected, from Shaatka’s hints, but hadn’t heard it directly.

“What can you tell us? We only have gossip and rumors,” Mosek asks.

Master Rannic stands. “We’ve received several scrolls. New proclamations from the Unified Guilds. The official recall of all Peacekeepers and Sheriffs. The formation of the Legion of Stone. And new laws coming regarding Transit Letters and Official Guild Marks on goods.”  He gestures toward the side table. “We’ve kept copies of all of these, if you wish to read them.”

A murmur spreads among the students.  Master Elowen taps her mug against the table. “Are there any questions for the Hall? I don’t want whispered rumors.”

A hill dwarf apprentice rises, voice trembling. “My family wrote about ‘silent killers.’ That Bimkor merchants had their throats cut and their beards shaved. Is any of that true?”

Shaatka stands. “I have not witnessed anything like that. But we have heard threats of ‘Durn’s Silent Hammers.’ Graffiti about them has been carved into cavern walls. I cannot confirm what I do not know.”

Mosek rises next. “I’ve been threatened with having my beard shaved. By a member of the Legion of Stone. He mentioned handing me over to the ‘Silent Hammers.’ But it may have only been a threat.”

Ana grips her cup, knuckles white. Tears gather at the corners of her eyes. She bites her lower lip. “I almost had one,” she curses softly in Mishikwe.

Ashke places a comforting hand on her shoulder. “What’s that, Red Shadow?”

The nickname breaks some of the tension. Ana stands and tells the hall about the murdered dwarf miner, his throat cut. “We thought someone moved in the shadows. Someone we couldn’t find. I can’t prove it was a Silent Hammer, but it makes sense. I wish I could say more.”

As she sits, Shaatka wraps her in a hug. “I didn’t know. I’m here for you,” she whispers.

Another dwarf apprentice stands. “I’m confused. Aren’t they ‘Silent Killers’? I saw her move in the shadows — like a ghost.” She points to Shaatka. “And she’s painted the same way. There are stories of them stealing children in the night.” Several students nod.

Mosek rises again. “Who here has heard stories of the ‘Hairy Old Bear’?”

A few goblins, Naawaii‑wakwan students, and even a couple of Masters raise their hands.

“I am the Hairy Old Bear of many of those stories. Before me, there were other Bimkor traders who inspired them. Stories grow and change. But am I a bear? Do I eat bad little goblin children?”

“Only if you’re in a bad mood,” Ashke jokes. Light laughter moves though the students.

Mosek continues. “Ana is the same. She is a border guard. A silent hunter. Legends and stories rose around her and her kind. She is here to help and protect. Don’t fear her.”  He sits, and Ashke pats him on the back.

Master Elowen stands. “It has been an eventful day. Let our guests rest. If you need to finish your evening duties, do so and return to your Masters. For those who wish it, Hearth‑rest will be served at the usual time.”

The Collapsing Tunnel - Chapter 21

 

21 – Tesh – Anger over Armor

“I want to speak to Master Iron‑Root right now!”   Elder Thuldren pounds on the doors of the main building, each strike echoing through the courtyard. His voice carries like a hammer blow. Brannik stands beside him, arms folded, silent, watchful, patient.

The doors open. Master Brenna fills the doorway, posture calm, beard neatly braided, expression politely neutral. “Is there something you require?” she asks, voice warm. “I thought your chapel was self‑sufficient.”

Thuldren’s face is red with rage. “You know why I’m here. You’re undermining my teachings. You’re violating your school’s own codes.”

Brenna widens her eyes in practiced surprise. “What do you mean? We are doing exactly what we are supposed to do. Our apprentices are crafting items. Practicing their trades. What else do you imagine we are doing?”

“Don’t play games with me!” he shouts. “Those loyal to the Clans have told me you are making armor for goblins. Using dwarf steel. Using dwarf methods. Making armor for our enemies.”

Master Brenna strokes her beard thoughtfully. “I don’t know what you are accusing us of. Yes, our smiths are practicing armor‑making — a Guild‑sanctioned trade. Yes, we are teaching them traditional goblin patterns — which we are allowed to do under the founding charter of this school.”  She tilts her head slightly.  “We are not selling them. We are not trading them. There is no market. And we have no Protectors or Peacekeepers to give them to. So, I confess, Elder Thuldren, I am confused. On what grounds are you complaining?”

She lets the silence stretch, then adds with a gentle smile:   “And you still have your chapel. Dwarf students who wish to attend your Purity Lessons are free to do so.”

She pauses again.   “Oh — and thank you for providing them with additional nutrition. Some of them have been sharing their bounty with their classmates. That is very generous of you.”

Thuldren falters. Just for a moment. He opens his mouth, closes it, then turns sharply and storms back toward the Chapel.

Brenna begins to close the door.  The soft voice of Brannik drifts up to her — quiet, almost pleasant.   “You play a dangerous game, Master Brenna Iron‑Root. Watch that Durn’s Silent Hammers don’t strike you in the darkness. Blessings of Durn upon you.”

Brenna’s hand pauses on the doorframe. Her smile never changes. But her eyes harden. She closes the door.

Tesh watches from the hall, heart pounding. He isn’t alone — several apprentices have crept forward, drawn by the shouting and the heavy pounding on the doors. When Master Brenna turns, they all freeze. She sees them immediately.  “Return to your duties,” she says, calm but firmly. “The Elder was simply lodging a complaint. Nothing more. Back to work.”

The apprentices scatter, whispering as they go. Tesh returns to his loom, weaving the shuttle through the growing sheet of spider‑silk cloth. Garin works beside him on the second loom, his movements slower than usual.

Garin glances over. “Maybe I should stop going to Chapel.”

Tesh shrugs without looking up. “That’s up to you.” He pulls the shuttle through another line. “Nibin and I like the food you share. But you don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to.”

Garin hesitates. “Hearing Elder Thuldren yell at Master Brenna like that… it felt wrong.”

He shivers. “Worse is Brannik. He’s all smiles and smooth talk, but he always watches. And have you heard him speak Mishikwe? He does it without an accent. Almost like he’s from Deep‑deep.”

Tesh turns, eyes wide. “That’s creepy. Mosek still has a dwarf accent, and he’s lived in the Deep‑deep.”

Nibin enters, a paper of measurements in hand. He walks up to the looms. “How much longer until the next piece of fabric is done?”

“Soon,” they both answer.

Nibin turns directly to Garin. “I’m thankful for the food you’ve shared. But if you don’t want to hear the ugly talk from the Chapel, stay with us. Share Ember‑spark here.”

Garin looks at them — not just classmates, but friends. He smiles, small but real. “Okay. Tomorrow, I’ll stay here. You’re right. I’d rather have wet, mushy mushroom bread with people I trust than a full meal with people I don’t.”

Across the room, both fiber masters watch the three boys quietly. Master Shii nods once, satisfied.  “They have learned well,” he murmurs.

The Collapsing Tunnel - Chapter 20

 

20 – Ashke / Mosek – Out of the Mountain.

Standing in front of the cart, Ashke begins, “We are from—”

“I’m not asking you.” The dwarf with the iron-rings braided into his beard snaps the words like a whip. He turns his glare to Mosek. “Tell your servant to keep quiet. Now. Where are you from, and where are you going?”

Both Ashke and Mosek freeze at the word ‘servant’.

Mosek steps forward slowly, palms open. “We are traveling merchants from Two Forges School, bringing trade goods to our sister school at Weaving River. The Grand Market is closed, but they may have access to other markets.”

The senior guard walks closer, slapping his truncheon into his palm. “Where are your Transit Papers? All merchants need a Unified Guilds transit stamp. And we’ll be searching your goods to make sure you aren’t smuggling weapons or contraband.”

Mosek keeps his voice steady. “I’ve been a Bimkor trader longer than you’ve been alive. I have never needed a stamp to travel or sell goods.”

The guard steps right into his face. “You say Bimkor like it’s something to be proud of.”

He sneers. “We heard you joking as you approached. You like the smooth‑skins so much, maybe we’ll let a Silent Hammer shave you.” He slaps the truncheon into his hand again. “Or maybe I’ll just beat you here and confiscate your goods. I bet none of them have Guild stamps either. We’d be within our rights to take everything.”

He raises the truncheon.

Ashke moves first.

He catches the guard’s wrist, twists it behind his back, and forces him down with practiced precision. The other two guards lunge forward—

—both drop instantly as blunt‑tipped arrows crack against the backs of their helmets.

Ashke wrenches the truncheon free and pins the senior guard to the ground. Mosek grabs a trade rope and binds his wrists.

 Two camouflaged shadows slip down from the rocks above the tunnel mouth. They move fast, tying the unconscious guards before they can stir.

A familiar voice whispers, “Mosek… Blessings of Bruna, we found you.” Shaatka steps around the barricade and pulls him into a fierce hug.

Ashke gags the squirming senior guard and drags him beside his unconscious partners. He looks up at the second shadow and smiles softly.

“Red Shadow.” She nods once.

Ashke crouches beside the bound guard and speaks in accented Durask. “This is one of the Zhul‑durak you whisper about in fear. You were going to turn my friend over to Durn’s Silent Hammers. Thank Durn I don’t turn you over to her.”

Ana leans close to the captive’s face. Her voice is a low, dangerous purr. “Be thankful I don’t carry a blade. Your beard would make a lovely trophy.”

The guard’s eyes go wide with terror.

Ana straightens and winks at Ashke.

Together, the four of them shove aside the barricade stones. With no time to waste, they slip onto the Merchant’s Road and hurry down the mountain before more of the Legion of Stone arrive.

The Collapsing Tunnel - Chapter 19

 

19 – Ana / Shaatka – Clearing the Path

The natural vent to the surface is tighter than the tunnels Ana is used to. Moving as silently as she can, wearing only body paint and silk, she leads the way. The rough stones provide her with easy handholds and steps, but her unstrung bow is tightly strapped against her back. Shaatka follows her. The body paint and silks are in the same pattern, but she carries a wider variety of arrows than Ana. Both have blunt, small-game tips, perfect for disabling someone, and hard-tipped bodkins for piercing armor, if they really need them. But Shaatka also has her razor-sharp hunting tips. They both hope to use only the blunts, but they are also prepared for the worst. The cool, fresh air blows down on Ana. She knows she is getting close to the opening. There’s light. It’s daylight. “We’ll have to wear eye shades. It’s daytime.” She whispers down. Shaatka nods and pulls them from her small pouch, placing them over her eyes. When Shaatka asked for volunteers to find Mosek, she happily agreed. Sitting and waiting is annoying. Getting, moving, doing. These things feel better.

 As she gets to the edge of the vent, she stops and motions for Shaatka to do the same. Ana listens. She doesn’t hear anything. Even with the eyeshades, it is bright outside. She pulls herself up, glances around, and sees a shadowy bush. She moves quickly into the shadow while staying low to the ground. When Shaatka exits the hole, Ana motions for her to join her.

Their mottled grey-and-green body paint and colored silks blend well with the mountainside. From the shadow, they watch and wait. Outside of the mountain is unfamiliar to them, so they both take a moment listening to the natural sounds, the wind blowing the branches, and the birds in the trees.

They both string their bows. Using hand signals, Ana motions to a large cluster of rocks. They stay low and move stealthily. Once there, they look for signs of travel, roads, or openings. Shaatka softly taps a stone with the tips of her fingers, then points down the side of the mountain. A road winds down, but doesn’t go above them, so there must be a tunnel into the mountain. Ana points to another stand of trees, from where they might have a better view.

As they get into position, they hear a voice in Durask yell. “Stop!” They freeze and realize that the voice is on the road facing into a tunnel. “Who are you, where did you come from, and where are you going?”

They both patiently watch, with their bows in their hands.

The Collapsing Tunnel - Chapter 18

 

18 – Ashke / Mosek – Under Siege

“Master Brenna, why does the Chapel have its own storehouse?” Mosek asks. He and Ashke are in the office of Master Brenna Iron-Root.

“You have students going to the Chapel for Ember-spark instead of starting the morning with their peers.” Ashke says in support.

“What would you have me do? Invite the Priest and his assistant into the school?” she scowls as she says it, “Or should I send you both to ‘storm their storehouse and take it for the school’? You both know the Chapel is allowed to staff and support itself outside of the school.”

Mosek slams his staff against the floor. “Master, this is your school. But you are missing the bigger picture. Your own larders are slowly dropping to nothing, and this assistant ‘Brannik Soft-Measure’ can seemingly bring in supplies from the Dwarf lands.”

She slams her hand against her desk and stands up. “No. If you force them to share, you violate the agreements this institution was built on.”

Ashke gently sets his hand on Mosek’s shoulder and, in a softer voice, says in his accented Durask. “Master Brenna. I am a Protector, and Mosek is a Bimkor trader. Will you allow us to take a cart of goods to the Weaving River School? We can also bring back what food we can purchase.”

She sits back down, steeples her fingers, and taps them against her beard.

“Ok. Neither of you officially belongs to the school.” She loudly sighs. “Talk to the various Masters and fill a cart with trade goods. Take the Merchant’s tunnel to the surface, but under no circumstances take either a Master or Apprentice with you. Am I clear?”

They both bow politely, “As clear as blown glass, Master.”

 

The apprentices work together to fill the largest cart that they have. “I wish I had the goats for you to harness.” Kordal Gaski-Bok says. “After the Grand Market closed, the herders no longer bring rams and ewes into the Merchant’s Tunnel.”

Mosek gives him a weak smile. “I’ve never used draft animals, so pushing a cart through tunnels is what I do.”

“You’ve got me to help you, Hairy Old Bear.” Ashke smiles in a supportive tone.

 The Masters ensure that their students properly pack each item and then check them off on the inventory slate.

Ashkwi‑Tin lightly taps Ashke on the back. “Protector?”

Ashke turns, “Yes, Apprentice__.”

“I’m Ashkwi-Tin. I’m a metal shaper.”

Ashke nods. “What can I do for you?”

“Can I take your measurements? While you are doing something to help us, I want to make some armor for you.”

Master Helka Stone-Anvil overhears that and walks over.

Ashke turns to her. “I haven’t agreed to anything, Master Helka. I was just listening to the offer from your apprentice.”

She nods and thinks about it. She calls Master Zhika. The Goblin metal shaper joins them. “Ashkwi-Tin wants to make Protector Armor. What are your thoughts?” Helka asks in Mishikwe.

He walks around Ashke, moving his hands as if he is picturing each piece of armor. “Yes. Yes. We can. Helka, if he forms and shapes the pieces, it will take time and show his skill. If we do dwarf steel and shape it in goblin style, it will occupy our students, not just Ashkwi. What do you think?”

She smiles at the suggestion. “Yes, it would do good for Britta and Thorek to make armor into goblin forms.”

Master Shii adds, “We could weave and make a padded gambeson to wear underneath.”

Before Ashke can respond, the Masters have their students all take the measurements they need. The Masters verify and compare the numbers before they clear the area.

Mosek pats his friend on the shoulder. “Now you know how it feels to be the center of attention. Shall we go?”

 

“If the Goblin tunnels were smoothed like this, I’d have an easier time getting to the Deep-deep.” Mosek jokes as he pushes the cart on the smooth, shaped, and cut tunnel.

“Then we’d never be able to send you home, and you’d have a goblin mate and little ones,” Ashke replies.

“Naw__ I like beards on my women. Though maybe I should try smooth-faced men.” He grunts as he pushes along.

Ashke just shakes his head, smiling.

A sharp voice rings out in clear Durask.  “Stop!”

A heartbeat later, the same command follows in accented Mishikwe.

Mosek and Ashke freeze. They step around to the front of the cart as the tunnel widens into the pale, cold light of the mountain’s exit.

Three dwarves stand there in stiff leather uniforms, truncheons in hand, war‑hammers hanging heavy at their belts. A rough barricade of stone blocks and timber seals the passage behind them.

The dwarf in front — older, with iron rings braided into his beard — speaks with the flat, unquestioning authority of someone who expects obedience. “Who are you, where did you come from, and where are you going?”

The Collapsing Tunnel - Chapter 17

 

17 – Tesh / Garin – Class at the Chapel

Ember-Spark is becoming the same thing. Thinly sliced mushroom bread, a drop of sweet moss jelly, salted fish, dried fruit, and the ever-present watery root-tea. Tesh is at the table early, setting plates out for his friends. He also sets out plates for the smith students, because both of his masters continually remind him that “different fibers blend to make the whole stronger”. He doesn’t have to like Britta and her friends, but it is better to include them than exclude them. "Bezhigo-Wagon, Bezhigo-Mikan". Tesh chuckles to himself as he says it. As a Bimkor market runner, they used to say it all the time. “I wish they had grown up in the Market too,” He says softly about the Smithing students.

“But then they wouldn’t have such a different perspective from you.” Master Varu says as he sets down his ceramic mug.

“Of course, Master.” Tesh responds. “I just wish they were a bit more open at times.”

The old dwarf nods as he fills his cup.

“Oh, good, you are both here,” Garin says as he enters the dining hall. “I’m accepting Britta’s invitation to have Ember-spark at the chapel and listen to Elder Thuldren Stone-Voice’s Purity lessons.”

A mixture of students and masters enter the dining hall, as Master Varu scowls at the mention of the Priest’s name. “Apprentice Garin Flint-Eye, you may attend Ember-spark there, but do not be late. You have work you already started.”

Garin nods to his master, “Of course, Master.” He then looks to Tesh. “See you in the workroom.” As he leaves, the other students notice him join Britta, who waits for him at the doorway.

As everyone sits down, Tesh notices that Ashkwi‑Tin and Durnik are sitting by themselves. Tesh taps the spot where Garin usually sits. “Why don’t you both sit closer?”

He holds up the platter of mushroom bread and smiles, “It’s easier to pass the plates.”

They both move closer and smile. Tesh says, “We are all carts on the same path.”

 

Garin follows Britta and the other dwarf students going to the chapel. At the door to the school, the dark-robed assistant to the Priest waits patiently.

“Why’s he here?” Garin asks.

He looks to Britta, “Who is this, Britta, a new friend to share Ember-spark?” He extends his hand, “I’m Brannik Soft-Measure, and you are?”

Garin cautiously takes his hand. “I’m Garin”

“You’ve got a strong grip, are you sure you aren’t a smith instead of a weaver? As for why I’m here, I make sure that everyone makes it safely to the Chapel.”

Garin shrugs. It makes sense. They are on lockdown, and they can’t just walk freely.

Brannik then looks to Thorek and asks, “Do we have everyone?”

Thorek looks around and quickly counts all five. “We are ready.”

Entering the Chapel from the ‘Fellowship Hall’ doors, Garin immediately smells fried eggs and smoked meat. The table in the Fellowship Hall is smaller than the school Dining Hall table, but it could easily fit a dozen or more people. The table is already set with plates and mugs. Garin sees a pitcher of Apple cider. The table is set more like what his family in the Hills sets up for Dogun-Bite, instead of what he’s had at the school’s Ember-spark.

 Elder Thuldren holds a skillet as he makes a batch of scrambled eggs. “Sit down, everyone. I’m almost done cooking.”

Gavin’s stomach growls. He looks at Britta, “Is this why you’ve been coming to Purity Classes?”

She smiles sweetly, “Of course. Why else would I really be here?”

Thuldren dumps the eggs into a ceramic bowl and places the pan on the iron stove. Removing his apron, he sits down and says, “Let us all bow our heads and pray.”

 

Garin hurries into the workroom. Both Master Shii and Master Varu watch him.

“I’m glad you made it on time.” Master Varu says in clear Durask.

“Thank you for giving me time, Master Varu, and you too, Master Shii.” Before walking to his rope braids, he goes to Tesh and Nibin, handing them small cloth-wrapped bundles. “They had extra at Ember-spark, so brought you both some sliced meat.”

Tesh opens his and sees the small slices of salted ham. “Are you sure?”

“They have so much food there. I’ll share it with you every day.” Garin says happily.

Nibin cautiously sniffs it.

Master Varu taps a carved fid against a weaving frame. “No food in the workroom.”

Tesh and Nibin quickly rewrap the meat. “I’m sorry Master,” they both say, and Garin echoes them. They set their bundles on a shelf.

“You can bring them to the Dining Hall at Forge-Breath. Garin, if you plan on doing this every day, please set the food on the back shelf. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master Varu.”

“Back to work, all of you.” He says as he slowly walks around the room.

The Collapsing Tunnel - Chapter 16

 

16 – Ana – Setting Traps in the Dark

It is an orderly movement. They move like a tide through the stone: the old ones up front, the youngest in the middle, the strongest at the rear to catch those who stumble or lose their way. They have been moving since dawn; the caverns empty in a slow, steady tide that smells of smoke and packed wool. The Aniniwiin Sukaniniwinin stay behind to do the work no one else can bear — to lay traps and set rockfalls that will seal the border if anyone should follow.

 Ana sets a large, smoothed stone into its cradle, fingers working the grooves until the balance is right. When the trip line is pulled, the rock will fall, crush the narrow tunnel throat, and block it. She pauses, feeling a little sick. Using skills she honed to enforce peace, to now kill those who might invade. “The elders all agreed, and we will do our jobs while the people move to safety,” she thinks for a moment. It saddens her, but it is needed.

 She remembers Dulmir and Kavran. “I hope it isn’t one of them,” she tells herself, and the thought makes her shudder. She pictures them in the Hall of Disputes — measured, professional, fair. She remembers Kavran’s laugh at Mid‑Bite and the way he spoke to Ashke of retiring to a Hill Dwarf village as a sheriff, a gentle peacekeeper enforcing laws with a soft hand. That dream is gone now. Waad showed them the scroll when the Grand Market closed: official seals, words in both Durask and Mishikwe. The scroll didn’t order Protectors to abandon posts; it gave the Legion temporary authority to coordinate border security and civilian movement. All Peacekeepers who wanted to continue serving were now transferred to the Legion of Stone.

 Voices echo from the caverns as whole communities move deeper into the Deep‑deep. Special teams of Stone‑listeners close the largest caverns; runners mark safe passages with glow‑moss and chalk. But it is the Silent Hunters who make sure the tunnels stay closed for now. She looks at her handiwork. “Yes, it is they who now hunt silently. Those rumored priests, mocking us with the name “Durn’s Silent Hammers”. They don’t even follow their own beliefs. A silent hammer would crush quietly. Not slip in the shadows and slit the throats of their own people.” In frustration, she hits her fist against the floor. “We had one. I didn’t see him. He killed one of his own kind.”

 She waits until the voices fade, then finds the next narrow point. Falling stalactites are devastating; a single one can end a life and seal a passage. Ana climbs the cavern wall, fingers finding purchase on rough calcite. She loosens a great, brittle spike just enough, then secures a thin line of spider‑silk to pull it down when needed. She drops to the tunnel floor and taps the stone, listening for hollow pockets. None here; she will make a hidden pit when she finds one.

 Setting traps is a craft of patience and cruelty. She hates the cruelty. She hates what they turned her into. She is now the Zhul-rakkaz of their stories. The killer in the shadows that the dwarves always said that border scouts were. Waad’s voice returns: ‘A single silent scout is more than a match for anyone who crosses the border’. “This is not justice; it is survival.” She tells herself that aloud, quietly, and the words steady her.

 She thinks of Dulmir, how proud he was to follow his grandfather’s path as a Peacekeeper, unlike most of his family in the Iron Legion. She frowns. “He will be pressured into being a member of The Legion of Stone. The rumor from the last of the Bimkor traders who joined the caravans to be safe was that the Legion of Stone wears leather armor. The wool uniform of peace is now replaced by armor for war. “We are all killers now,” she softly says. “Bruna, forgive the pain we cause. We protect the people as we protect you.”

 At the next choke point, she finds a natural sinkhole, half‑hidden beneath a carpet of calcified moss. She digs with a small trowel until the lip is thin and treacherous. She slips sharpened quartz into the pit — edges honed to a razor that will cut even swamp‑reptile leather. Then she covers it with loose stones and a lattice of spider‑silk, the kind of work that will swallow a foot, slice it open, and take a life. She lays a whisper of powdered lime on top so the surface looks solid.

 She finishes the pit and sets the final anchor for the stalactite. Her hands are steady. Her throat is tight. When she is done, she taps the code into the stone with her knuckle — a soft, practiced rhythm — and the reply comes back: a single, low whistle and the tapped reply that means “Traps set. Border sealed for now.”

 Ana realizes after a moment, “If any of the Legion of Stone are listening, they will understand. That is a mixed blessing. They know we sealed the borders and know we set traps. Hopefully, they come no further.”

She rolls her rope, puts it in her bag, and checks her lines, then stands and watches the last of the columns move deeper into the Deep‑deep.