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.

The Collapsing Tunnel - Chapter 15

 

15 – Tesh – School Locked Down

“Don’t pull too tightly. Focus on your rhythm,” Master Shii‑Takan says in his thickly accented Durask. “You are spiders, effortlessly weaving. The shuttle is only a tool. You control the weaving.”

Tesh tries to focus. Doing this on the handloom instead of the mechanical one feels like more “busy‑work” to keep them occupied while the school is locked down.

Master Shii taps one of Tesh’s lines. “Why are you pulling so tightly? Is there a fly you are trying to capture?”

Tesh adjusts the tension. “I’m sorry, Master. I’ll do better.”

Master Shii looks around at the three boys. “Stop, all of you. Step away from the weaving and sit in a circle.”

He switches to Mishikwe. “You are distracted and anxious. Let us take a moment and do this properly.”

They aren’t entirely sure what he means, but they sit on the floor with him. Master Shii looks at Nibin first, then Garin, then Tesh.

“You all look worried. Nibin — if we were down along the River and there was a concern, what would you do?”

Nibin’s fingers twist the hem of his sleeve. “Master… we would take a boat and gather fish. Throw the net, wait, haul it in. While we sort the catch — those to keep, those to return — we talk about what’s wrong. We speak our sorrows aloud so Bruna can carry them away in the River.”

Master Shii nods. He turns to Garin. “And if you were back with your clan? How would you solve a problem?”

Garin sits straighter. “The Clan head would listen to the grievances, like in the Hall of Disputes. They’d give a ruling. If it felt unfair, we could ask for a new judgment with new information. Sometimes it changed. Sometimes it didn’t.”

Finally, Master Shii looks at Tesh and gives him a sad smile. “You are a child of the Market. How did you resolve problems?”

Tesh hesitates, glancing at the others. He’s never heard their traditions spoken aloud before. “During a meal break… we’d talk. Whoever gathered the most support was right. It wasn’t always fair, but everyone felt like they had a voice.”

Master Shii smiles. “Do you know where that tradition came from? Talking around a meal?”

They shake their heads.

“It is a Deep‑deep custom brought to the Between Lands. So let us treat this circle as a table”—he nods to Tesh—“a clan hall”—he nods to Garin—“and a fishing boat.” He nods to Nibin, completing the circle.

“Tell me your fears and concerns. Let us see what answers we can weave together.”

They complain about everything at once:

Not being allowed to go to the Market to hear real news.

The Priest in the Chapel holds “Purity classes” every morning.

Rumors of riots and closings.

Killings by unknown people.

“Silent Hammers”—whatever those are.

And worst of all, according to Garin, “no more Fry‑flats.”

Nibin adds that the kitchens are rationing flour.

Tesh mutters that even the Weaving River School hasn’t sent a trade cart.

Garin grumbles that mushroom bread “tastes like damp stone.”

Master Shii listens silently, hands folded in his lap, nodding now and then as each boy speaks. Sometimes he adds a quiet question. Sometimes he offers a small correction. Mostly, he lets them talk.

By the time they finish, all three boys feel wrung out.

Garin huffs. “Master… you didn’t give us any answers.” He uses his most formal Durask, but there’s an edge under it.  Nibin and Tesh both nod.

Master Shii exhales softly. “I did not give you answers because I do not truly have them.”

He looks at each boy in turn.

“We are prevented from going to the Market. We are to stay here for our safety. That includes the Masters.” He spreads his hands. “I have heard of ‘Silent Hammers,’ but I do not know what or who they are.”

Nibin’s ears twitch. Garin frowns. Tesh looks down.

“I, too, want news, not gossip,” Master Shii continues. “But like you, I have no good source at the moment.”

He gestures toward the Chapel. “The Priest of Durn is allowed to teach there. It is an old agreement dating back to the school’s founding. We cannot change that today.”

He shifts his weight, the faintest sigh escaping him.

“As for the rest — the shortages, the rationing — we are using what stores we have. We have not traded with the Weaving River School. Master Brenna is making choices she believes will keep us safe.”

Then in a tone that’s warm and tired he says, “I miss Fry‑flats too. Mushroom bread is good… but Fry‑flats crunch.”  He makes a chewing motion with his pointed teeth and smiles.

All three boys laugh — a small, grateful sound — and nod.

 

As they settle around the large Ember‑Rest table, Garin, Nibin, and Tesh shift their bowls to make room for Zhaawa and Kweze.

Kweze takes the plate of mushroom‑flats, sighs, and passes it along.

“It’s so frustrating to learn tunnel maintenance when we can’t even go into tunnels,” she mutters, softly but with a sharp edge.

Britta arrives with the platter of sliced meat and hands it to Garin.

“We keep missing you at Purity Class,” she says, trying to seem witty. “The Priest wants to know if you can tell pure wool from pure flax and pure silk. He thinks you’re spending too much time blending fibers.”

Thorek snorts. “Let him stay where he is. We need to know something is pure before we use it. They”—he flicks his chin toward Tesh and the goblin girls—“mix and weave anything together. Come sit back down.”

Zhaawa rises smoothly, carrying the pot of watery Stone‑Stew. “Metals aren’t the only ones who understand purity,” she says lightly. “In stone‑shaping, we know how to identify and remove what’s not needed.” She sets the pot in front of Thorek with a bright, pointed smile. “Some impurities are easy to spot.”

Then she returns to her seat, unbothered.

Across the table, the Masters watch and listen, saying nothing.

Mosek stretches, joints popping softly. “This is what I missed while traveling,” he says warmly. “Conversation. Hearing young people say what’s on their minds. The caverns are quiet and lonely.”

He smiles at Tesh. “Which is why sharing a meal is so important.”

Master Varu pats his friend’s shoulder. “You make a welcome addition to our table.”

Under the table, Thorek and Britta hold hands, knuckles white.

Beside them, Ashkwi‑Tin takes the stew bowl, scoops a modest portion, and passes it to Durnik, his partner in the forge.

He keeps his eyes down, but his ears are angled toward Zhaawa’s comment—listening, absorbing, saying nothing.

The old Cook approaches Master Brenna.

“Master, there is a visitor. He says he is known to the Masters. He appears to be a Protector, but without his uniform.”

She rises immediately. “Show him in.”

Ashke Wenii‑Gwenewin enters the dining hall, dust‑streaked and weary.

“I apologize, Master Iron-Root,” he says in his most formal Durask, “for arriving during Ember‑Rest. I have come from what had been the Grand Market. It is now officially closed and empty.”

His eyes sweep the room until they land on Mosek.  “And I wished to ensure the safety of the ‘Hairy Old Bear.’ The rumor is that he now teaches the young how to be a traveling merchant.”

Master Brenna extends a hand. “Protector Ashke, many here have seen you in the Grand Market. You are always welcome at our table. Sit, eat, and tell us the latest information. We are hungry for news but full of gossip.”

She makes space beside her. Mosek and Varu nod for him to sit where she directs.

An empty plate appears, then bowls, platters, and a cup of root‑tea.

As he eats, he confirms the things they had only whispered about:

The Hall of Disputes was sealed. He was there.

The Grand Market had a riot and was emptied. He witnessed it.

A merchant was hanged. He saw the aftermath.

Protectors and Border Scouts have been told to prepare to evacuate the Between Lands.

The hall goes still.

Rumors are one thing. But hearing it from a Protector of the People — someone who saw these things — is something else entirely.

The students sit frozen, bowls untouched.  And then they notice it.

Thorek, Britta, Helka, and Brokkim are smiling.  Small, satisfied smiles.

Durnik’s face pales. He knows this confirms everything the Priest has been preaching — and he is suddenly, painfully aware of Ashkwi‑Tin sitting beside him.

Ashkwi‑Tin keeps his eyes on his stew, ears angled back, shoulders tight.

 

 

The Collapsing Tunnel - Chapter 14

 

14 – Shaatka – Invasion

Shaatka cups her hands beneath the cool trickle of the public well and lets the mountain spring water wash the dust from her face. “Maybe I should have stayed with Mosek at the Grand Market”, she thinks. “Too bright. Too loud. Too many people”. Even these Bimkor border communities feel crowded to her Deep‑deep senses—too many straight lines, too many cut‑stone walls pretending to be caverns.

A small child approaches; ears pointed like hers but hair pale as river sand. “Protector… that’s special. Did you get it from the Grand Market?”

Shaatka bends to his height and holds out the pry‑bar. “No, little one. It was a gift from a big hairy bear. I helped save his life, and he gave it to me.”

The child’s eyes widen—whether at “big hairy bear” or “saved his life,” she can’t tell. He darts away, already shouting the story to anyone who will listen.

The rhythmic clang of a metal‑shaper’s hammer rings through the central cavern, echoing off the smoothed stone. Shaatka lets the familiar sound settle her nerves.

A runner bursts from a side tunnel, breathless. “Riot at the Grand Market! Merchant hung!”

The words strike like a thrown stone. People pour from their homes—stone‑faced dwarven blocks, goblin‑woven timber roofs—voices rising in a panicked chorus.

“What happened.”

“Is it spreading.”

“Was that blasting powder.”

“Are we safe?”

Before the runner can answer, the ground trembles beneath Shaatka’s feet. A deep, booming echo rolls through the cavern. Then comes the unmistakable metallic ping of picks biting into stone.

Shaatka’s stomach tightens. That’s not blasting powder. That’s digging.

She scans the crowd for another Protector and spots Miskwa‑Tanen, his woolen uniform rumpled, his face drawn with worry. He raises his hands, voice steady despite the fear around him.

“Don’t panic. Don’t let rumors fuel fear.”

The wall closest to the border shudders—and collapses inward. Dust billows. A cluster of dwarf miners stumbles through the breach, cheering.

“We made it!” one shouts in Durask.

Miskwa‑Tanen strides toward them, calm but firm. “You are lost and have violated the border,” he calls in accented Durask. “Return the way you came. We will repair the damage.”

Shaatka moves closer, pry‑bar in hand. Everything about this feels wrong.

A voice booms from behind the miners. “They’re hiding Durn’s Gifts! You have his blessing to find them!”

Another voice answers sharply, “Hold, Priest. We have a job to do first.”

Three dwarves in brown leather armor step through the breach—two with war hammers, one carrying a scroll. The scroll‑bearer spots Miskwa‑Tanen and smiles coldly.

“Good. You can enforce this. By order of the Unified Guilds, this settlement is to be searched for precious metals and minerals, and reassigned as housing for Guild miners.”

“What!” Bimkor voices cry. “This is our home.”

“If you resist,” the dwarf continues, “the Legion of Stone is authorized to use force.”

Miskwa‑Tanen takes the scroll, glances at it, then throws it to the ground. “Who is the Legion of Stone? Who are the Unified Guilds? You have no authority here. Leave.”

The scroll‑bearer draws his truncheon and strikes Miskwa‑Tanen across the head. The Protector crumples. Gasps and screams fill the cavern.

“They won’t listen,” the dwarf snarls. “Make them listen.”

The miners surge forward, picks raised.

Shaatka moves without thinking. She blocks a blow with her pry‑bar, twists, and disarms the miner. Another rushes her. She parries again, but more are coming. She sees Miskwa‑Tanen being dragged upright, iron manacles clamped around his wrists.

A Priest steps through the breach, blessing the cavern with a sweep of his hand. Behind him come dwarven families pushing carts. “See,” he proclaims, “Durn provides for the faithful.”

Shaatka shouts in Mishikwe, “Head for the tunnels to Deep‑deep. Go.”

Families flee. She disarms another miner, then hurls the pick. It strikes a charging dwarf square in the chest, knocking him backward.

“They’ve got a fighter,” one of the Legion shouts.

Shaatka backs toward the nearest exit tunnel, guarding the retreat. She can’t block every path, but she can slow them. She slams her pry‑bar into a support stone and wrenches it free. The tunnel mouth collapses in a shower of dust and rock.

Not enough to stop them. Enough to buy some time.

She retreats with the last of the fleeing families, guiding them through twisting passages until they reach the next community. Elders are already gathering, demanding answers.

Shaatka finds two other Protectors and gives a rapid report. Then she faces the Elders, voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.

“A circle must be called. Decisions must be made.”

Only when the others disperse does she finally reach for her bow. She strings it with practiced ease, the string snapping taut.

“Next time,” she whispers, “I’ll use arrows.”

The Collapsing Tunnel - Chapter 13

 

13 – Ashke – The Riot

Runners spread word of the disruption at the Hall of Disputes.

A group of Protectors form up, not bothering to dress in uniforms but simply respond to the emergency.

They check the Hall which is empty by the time they arrive. The dwaven doors are sealed. The statues of Durn and Bruna are intact, but the Loom of Peace is gone. Graffiti covers the walls:

“Durn’s Blessing on us all,”

“Durn’s Silent Hammers strike in the Deep,”

“Durn will punish Zhul-rakkaz.”

 

Ashke shakes his head, “How did this get so bad?” He asks aloud.

Another Protector walks up, “There are no injured here, nor any bodies to recover. Let’s do as the dwarves did and seal our side. When peace is restored, we can reopen the Hall.”

Ashke nods and leaves. Pressing firmly against the door, metal spikes are driven into the stone floor, sealing it. Then the handles are tied closed with spider silk ties.

 

A runner comes up “Trouble in the Grand Market! All Protectors are to go there.” They shout as they continue down another tunnel back into the goblin communities.

Without question or comment, they rush to the Grand Market. The tunnel from the Hall of Disputes opens to the cart staging area outside of the market. Screams and crashing are heard from the market area. “They steal our gold.” “They kill our people.” “Death to the Silent Killers.”

Shouts in Durask echo through the area.

 

As the Protectors try to get in, fearful goblins and Bimkor push out.

“Leave room for the little ones,” Ashke tries to direct, but he might as well be yelling for a cave-in to stop. He motions for the youngest to come towards him and out of the way.

But screams from the market get louder and closer.

“This one is impure and cheated us.”

Ashke has to get in there to help. He hears a loud Peacekeeper’s whistle.

“There will be Order!” a Durask voice says using a sound horn.

The shouts die down.

“Evacuate the Grand Market. It is closed for the meantime under Unified Guild Law.”

Ashke has never heard of such a thing.  He knows Dwarf Law and Guild Law, but it’s the first time he’s heard Unified Guild law.

The fleeing crowds slow their push, and it seems the panic is over. But he still needs to find out what is happening, so he makes his way against the tide of people while other Protectors continue working to safely clear the area.

 

Inside the Grand Market's huge chamber, Ashke sees overturned tables and smashed merchandise. He worries about the friends he’s known over the years, but he wants to talk to the Peacekeepers first. Making his way over to the Guard Post, there’s a crowd of those who were on duty at the time giving their statements to the Senior Peacekeeper, with a speaking horn dangling from his wrist by a lanyard, as he records their statements on a slate.

“They were screaming and running.”

“We tried to make a barrier.”

“They pushed and went around.”

 Movement on the far edge of the hall draws Ashke’s attention. He watches as Peacekeepers use a ladder to cut down a Naawaii-wakwan merchant who was hanging by a woven linen rope. He can’t remember what his stall sold, but it should never have gotten to that point. He wants to look for Mosek and check the Two Forges stalls.

 

When he gets to where they usually were, they seem unoccupied. No tables, no chests or boxes, no items on the walls. “Maybe they stayed in the School,” He mutters to himself.

“They weren’t here today.” A Protector says in Mishikwe.

He looks at her. “Have you seen Mosek? Was he here today?”

She shakes her head. “I haven’t seen him today. But I was helping my Peacekeeper keep things calm, so I might have missed him.”

He places a reassuring hand on her shoulder, “You did the best you could.”

She gives him a sad smile. “No, we didn’t. We failed him,” nodding towards the dead merchant. She then comments “You might want to try Two Forges. This week, Mosek was spending a lot of time talking to the Masters. Or at least that is what was shared.” trying to give Ashke hope.

“Thank you, I’ll check there. Do you need help cleaning up?”

“Freely offered hands are never refused….”

“And the Blessings of Bruna upon all of us.” Ashke finishes.

The Collapsing Tunnel - Chapter 12

 

12 – Ana – Disorder in the Hall of Disputes.

She feels uncomfortable and nervous, but it’s different than last time. It’s not the uniform, but the whole atmosphere. Her entire team is here. They all look as uncomfortable as she feels. Walking up to Dovren, she quietly says, “You did nothing wrong. When you helped them with the prisoners, they asked you questions, and you returned. You did nothing wrong.”

Dovren places a hand on Ana’s shoulder. “I know, but they still blame us for the death.”

Neshka says in a soft tone, “I searched the area while the tunnel was repaired. I found prints, but they lead back across the border.”

Ana nods, “I read your report.” She holds up the collected barkskins that were written after the incident.

Waad stands near the shaped stone doors, the Aashkibwe‑maan belt draped across his shoulder and the slag bead in his hand. “It is just another trial. It will go like all the others.” He tries to reassure them.

 

The doors open, and he enters, going through the ritual. This time, there are additional witnesses lining the dwarf side of the hall. As Waad holds the belt, dwarves from the crowd spit.

The Stone-Judge hits his hammer twice. “There will be Order. You will respect the Laws, or I will clear the Hall.”

There is an angry murmur for a moment, then silence.

Waad walks to his position and holds the slag bead.

Ana and the scouts all enter the circle. It feels so much smaller this time. She looks to the Justices and says clearly in Durask. “We have a grievance. Miners violated the border. One was killed.” Waad hands the slag bead to the Weaver-Who-Hears-Meaning.

“Murderers”

“Shadow Killers”

The crowd yells.

“There Will Be ORDER,” the Stone-Judge yells again, his hammer blows echoing in the Hall.

The doors on the dwarf side open, and an unfamiliar Senior Peacekeeper enters first, holding the bowl of judgment, but also a slag bead. He performs his ritual and then takes his place.

Senior Peacekeeper Hurn and Peacekeeper Lora both enter carrying slates.

They enter the circle, “We are here as witnesses, but we also have a grievance. The border scouts exceeded their authority and killed a dwarf.”

Excited voices murmur once again.

The Stone-Judge quiets them once more and then looks at Hurn. “Let us address their grievance first, then we will decide on yours. That is the order of things.”

The crowd grumbles, but both Peacekeepers nod and stand straight.

The miners are brought in, all still bound by manacles. With them taking their place in the circle, Ana feels a tightness and tension she’s never felt before. It’s like being in a cavern ready to collapse.

She holds up her barkskins and clears her throat.

A member of the Mining Guild quickly interrupts, holding up a scroll. Ana sees that it has seals. The Hammer of Durn from the Priests, and the symbol of the royal family, the dwarves use on their coins.

“Your Honor. I have pardons for all of these men.” He says as he approaches, uninvited, to the justices’ table. He places the scroll in front of the Stone-Judge, as the crowd cheers.

Ana yells, still using Durask, “How are they to be pardoned. They haven’t been found guilty yet.”

The cheering grows, but changes to “Now arrest the real murderers.”

“Seize the Shadow Killers.”

“Arrest Zhul-rakkaz!”

Ana looks at Hurn and Lora; they seem as surprised as she. He quickly whispers, “Get ready to go. I think things might get ugly.”

The Mining Guild representative is using a key to unlock the manacles as the Judge reads the scroll. The Peacekeepers try to stop him, but he loudly says, “I have Royal support and Durn’s Holy blessing.”

The crowd cheers and rushes towards the goblin side of the hall.

“Move!” Ana yells at her people. Waad grabs the Weaver-Who-Hears-Meaning and the belt, pulling the Listener-of-Bruna along too.

The Hall Protectors hold the doors and help all the goblins out as the Peacekeepers try to restore order.

Ana glances at the Loom of Peace. A man in a dark brown cloak climbs smoothly up Durn and cuts the strands with a small knife. The beads crash to the floor and scatter as the stone doors shut with a slam.

The Collapsing Tunnel - Chapter 11

 

11-Tesh – Return to the Market

The boxes he carries to the stall are heavier than what he’s used to. Tesh wipes the sweat from his brow as Master Varu pushes together two long tables. He covers one with a woven mixed-fiber blanket, and the other with a mixed-fiber net.

“How many boxes are we unloading from the cart, Master?”

“All of them. Be careful with the glassware box. I don’t know if they packed it carefully.” He replies.

“Probably not. It takes a skilled traveler to know how to pack and carry glass.” A friendly and familiar voice says. Tesh looks up and sees Mosek still carrying his goblin reed and silk-wrapped staff.

“Hairy Old Bear,” Tesh yells, setting down the box and rushing to hug him.

The embrace is warm and comforting. Tears form in the corners of Tesh’s eyes.

“Yes, yes, we are happy to see him. But you have a lot to unpack before the market opens.” Master Varu softly but directly says.

He releases his hug.

“Let me look at you first.” Mosek says, “You’ve gotten broader and a little taller.”

“And his fingers move like those of a Deep-deep weaver.” Varu proudly says.

Tesh blushes. He rarely hears a compliment like that from his master.

“Get back to work, little runner. Or should I now think of you as Spider fingers?” Mosek jokes.

Before he can answer, Varu sets metal items loudly on the table. “Only if he can master net making.”

Mosek moves closer to Varu, and in Durask, he says, “How are you doing, old weaver?” as they clasp arms.

Tesh wants to watch and listen, but he knows he has to unload the cart.

Between loads, he sees that Mosek is helping to unpack and arrange items.

“Master Brenna had us combine all the stalls into one.”

“I thought there are less of you here.” Mosek comments

“One Master and one Apprentice. Limit the risks.”

With each box he carries Tesh hears the conversation shift topics.

“The Priest and the Healer were very thorough with their examination.”

“The Market Priest?” Varu scowls. “His kind is the reason I haven’t been in the chapel since I learned to braid my own beard.”

“I know what you mean. I’d take the loving caress of a Listener-of-Bruna over the cold stares from a Priest-of-Durn any day.” Mosek jokes.

“You’d take any caress you can get,” Varu replies in a humorous tone Tesh has rarely heard.

As Tesh goes to get another box, he hears, “You know I would.”

He shakes his head. As a runner, he never heard adults really talk like that, and at School, they almost never do. “It’s almost like Garin, Kweze, Zhaawa, and him.” He thinks, just now recognizing that adults have long-lasting friends too.

 With the last of the boxes unpacked, Tesh stands behind the tables. “Master, I know the value of our ropes and even woven blankets, but how do I gauge something like this?” He holds up a long-handled iron cooking fork.

Master Varu points to the inventory slates that are just below them, with costs in gold coins written out. “I’ll be here if you are truly confused, but use the School-recommended prices as a guide.”

Tesh nods as Mosek steps back from the table.

“A fine selection of wares, Master Varu-Gashki. You do both the Market and your school proud.” He then turns to Tesh, “As do you, Apprentice Rope-maker Tesh Varu Dagan. I will walk the Market and direct customers to you.” He states in an overly loud tone, like the “Hairy Old Bear” showman that he is, and walks away.

 

Tesh feels overwhelmed and is ready for Mid-Bite. Between evaluating customers' needs and the value of trade goods, he feels exhausted, and he still has time after Mid-Bite to contend with. What is worse was the whispers he’d overhear in the quiet moments.

“Miners attacked the tunnels.”

“Made it deeper than before.”

“Border scouts killed some.”

“Peacekeepers had to clean graffiti before the Market opening.”

“The Silent Hammers strike in the Deep”

“Silent Hammers speak Mishikwe like they were born to it.”

“Shadow killers are on the border now.”

 

Tesh wants so badly to ask for more information. This all sounds so wrong. He has seen the Scouts when they rotate to the Market. They aren’t Zhul-rakkaz.

Master Varu motions for Tesh to start preparing for Mid-Bite. A dwarf in dark woolen robes walks up and says in unaccented Mishikwe, “I see you have items shaped from crystal and stone. Do you have any knives crafted from Svartbrot or Kvartsbrot?”

Tesh is used to his classmates mixing the languages, but it seems strange to him when this dwarf does it. Master Varu steps up, “We encourage our stone shapers to create useful objects of beauty, not tools that can be misused.” Replying in Durask.

The man purses his lips and switches to Durask. “I will have to search elsewhere. Thank you, Mistress, I mean Master Weaver.” and leaves.

 

Mid-bite was almost as tense as meals at the School have been. The glares, whispers, and “accidentally” dropped platters. What used to feel like friends around a table felt as fractured as one of Zhaawa’s early creations. He wanted to ask questions, but was afraid to say the wrong thing to the wrong person. Even Mosek was quieter than usual.

 

As they reset the stall, the Market Priest walks up to Master Varu. “You seem to be the only Master from Two Forges today. I was hoping to talk to Mistress, I mean Master Brenna Iron-Root. The chapel of your school has been without a Priest for some time. I’d like to remedy that.”

“I remember when the clan Chapels recalled all of those who worked in friendship with the Listeners-of-Bruna. I think the excuse given to the School was, ‘proper instruction of purity laws,’ or something.”

The priest gives him a wicked smile. “Yes, it is important that your students, especially the smiths, get a good understanding of Durns Hreinlog.” He then casually wipes his hand on the mixed-fiber blanket. “Maybe it would benefit others, too. I’d hate to see impurities weaken the outstanding items made by the School.”

Varu narrows his eyes and lowers his voice. “Get away from this stall, stay away from my students, and keep away from my school.”

The Priest reacts in an exaggerated and loud voice, “Your school? I thought it was a place of peace and unity, not a refuge for the Clanless. It doesn’t matter, I will bring the matter up directly with Brenna Iron-Root.” The Priest walks away humming.

Tesh is shocked by the rage coloring Varu’s face. “Master. Are you okay?”

He slowly exhales, and his normal color returns.

“Tesh, I thought we were past all of that. I thought we had made progress.”

He gives a weak smile to his apprentice. “I look at you and your classmates. You are the hope my grandparents dreamed of. Our school was the vision of my parents.”

He then leans forward against the table. “To hear the ugliness said so openly. I wanted to report him to the Peacekeepers.”

“Why don’t you, Master?”

“Right now, they are just words. We don’t want words to be controlled. If we control words that we find hurtful and ugly, then we give cause for others to ban our words because they are ugly to them.” A tear of frustration forms in the old dwarf’s eye. “We’ve been working for better. You deserve better.” He wipes his eyes and straightens up.

“Let’s focus on the Market. There’s still time until closing and lots of people.”

“Of course, Master Varu.”