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.

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.