“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.”
