Expansion - Chapter 15

 

15 – Helvar – Replaced

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

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

“How did he die?”

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

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

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

“Senior Peacekeeper,” Helvar says politely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is there something amusing about that?”

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

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

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

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

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

The door opens.

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

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

He looks at Helvar with open disdain.

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

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

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

Helvar gathers his things quickly.

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

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

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

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

Helvar freezes just outside the threshold, unseen.

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

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

Trap‑maker? 

Helvar’s blood runs cold. Miiwan.

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

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

“Segregated holding,” the Legionnaire replies without emotion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Expansion - Chapter 14

 

14 – Brammir – Work stops and Rumors

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s going on?”

“Why the Legion?”

“Maybe’ll hear during Forge-Breath.”

“Is it related to your engineer?”

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

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

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

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

As they leave, the whispers start up.

“Guild Business?”

“A full squad of the Legion?”

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Impressive.”

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

“Were you close to him?”

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

“How did he die?” Brammir asks.

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

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

She pauses “Maybe, why do you ask?”

“My brother Helmir was killed by border scouts.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Expansion - Chapter 13

 

13 – Brikel – Other Tunnels

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

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

Thavrin hides a smile behind his mug.

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

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

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

A round of nods follows.

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

A hush settles over the table.

“How much silk?” Thavrin asks.

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

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

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

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

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

“Burning works,” Fenrik offers.

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

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

The table goes quiet again.

Everyone knows what that means.

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

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

Durnek exhales in relief.

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

Silk.

Spiders.

And four unmapped tunnels.

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

 

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

It is the opposite of how he prefers to work.

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

“Light team, move forward.”

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

“Are you ready to measure and mark?”

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

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

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

A wall of spider‑silk.

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

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

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

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

For a moment, there is only silence.

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

“Working…!”

The sound vibrates faintly through the webbing.

 Muffled screams rip through the silk.

“Pull back! Pull back!”

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

Brikel nods. “I’ll find him.”

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

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

No answer.

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

“Mardek?” he calls again.

Then he sees him.

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

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

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

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

“You fool,” he mutters, voice cracking.

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

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

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

 

Expansion - Chapter 12

 

12 – Helvar – Miiwan Again

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He takes a slow bite.

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

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

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

Miiwan hesitates again.

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

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

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

Miiwan chews his lower lip.

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

Miiwan takes a bite and washes it down with tea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In his notes, he writes:

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

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

Expansion - Chapter 11

 

Brammir – Strange Tools

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

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

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

“What do you have?” Brottan asks.

Brammir hands him the antler fragment.

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

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

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

“What are these marks?” Brammir asks.

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

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

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

He goes back to polishing the pebbles for the game.

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

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

 

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

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

His ore cart stands waiting for him to fill it.

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Expansion - Chapter 10

 

Brikel – Shared Notes

“Can any of you read goblin writing?” Brikel asks as he dips his mushroom bread into the mid‑day meal gravy.

Most of the table shakes their heads, but Branik Ore‑Trace mumbles, “Recognize it, but can’t read it.”

They look at him as he continues, “Goblin‑shaped tunnels’ll have little marks and symbols.” He takes a mouthful of food.

Brikel pushes a barkskin toward him. “Like these?”

Branik glances at the markings and shrugs. “When I normally see ’em, it’s where tunnels cross. They’re telling which is which. Like I said — I recognize ’em, but can’t read ’em.”

Yivra holds out her hand. “Can I see them?”

Brikel nods and passes the barkskin to her. “You’ll get my notes at the end of shift anyway.”

“Yes, but make sure to include any writing too. Maybe I can translate what they say.”

Thavrin snorts. “That’s a waste of time. If we want to know what it says, just grab a Bimkor.”

Helka stares at Thavrin like he’s said something unbelievably stupid. “Where have you been for the past year? Even my clan knows the only Bimkor left are around Weaving River.”

Yivra brightens at that. “Helka, can you send a message to your family? Maybe someone still trades down at the River Market?”

“What I really need is a farmer,” Brikel says.

“Why?” Helka asks. “I’ve got relatives with orchards.”

“No. I need a goblin or Bimkor mushroom farmer. They’d know what this says — and how the farm worked.”

Thavrin shakes his head. “No. Just make your maps. The Guild will send farmers, miners, or whoever can best use what we find.”

Olmra Root‑Measure clears her throat. “Maybe I should come with you. I grew up mushroom farming. My family still has a number of farms — a couple I helped improve as an apprentice engineer.”

Thavrin exhales slowly through his nose. “If you have so much time to look at his cavern, then your tunnels are fully mapped?”

Olmra’s shoulders sink. “It was just a suggestion.”

“I think we’ve had enough suggestions for now.” Thavrin stands, grabs his empty plate, and drops it into the hall washbasin for the staff to clean and reuse. “Finish up. Let’s all get back to work.”

 

By the time the Chapel bell rings marking Stone‑Rest, Brikel’s barkskins and slates are full. The Legion team helps him carry back the lamps and the measuring rope. More than once, Hadrun asks why he’s copying down the strange marks.

“Yivra asked me to include them,” Brikel says. “She thinks they could be important to the master map.”

Before they leave, Hadrun and one of the Legionnaires set several markers and temporary rope seals across the unexplored exits.

“Are those really necessary?” Brikel asks.

“Legion orders,” Hadrun replies. “Besides — do you want to come back tomorrow and find a zhul‑durak waiting for you in the shadows?”

Brikel nods at that. “So, you’ll accompany me back here tomorrow?”

“Unless my orders change, we’re to guard you until you finish.”

Brikel gathers his slates under one arm. “Lead the way.”

Expansion - Chapter 9

 

9 – Helvar – Protector’s Questions

Helvar writes Veshka Stone‑Waki on the barkskin, then hesitates. He adds a second line beneath it: Veshka Nodin‑Waki He studies the names written in runes, then quickly rewrites them using the syllabary.

“That looks better,” he mutters. His notes are his and his alone; the official report will be in runes, as required. But his private work? He prefers the syllabary. It captures nuance the priests never bother to learn.

“Too bad the Priests don’t truly understand Durn’s Hreinlog,” he murmurs. “They preach ‘Racial Purity’ like children reciting a chant. So shortsighted. Purity of Spirit and Thought matters far more.”

He pauses, the stylus hovering.

'I’d rather have a squad of true‑believer Bimkor than a legion of the ‘pure.’'

The thought lands heavy. His instructors would chastise him for even thinking it. He closes his eyes and hears Tholmir Kind‑Hand’s voice, calm and steady as ever: “Use whatever and whoever is available. We are the true keepers of Durn’s Laws. Let the zealot priests distract the crowds. We keep society together from the shadows. Even the Guilds are tools. Use them. Exploit them. Keep the faithful on the True path.”

Helvar exhales slowly.

Yes. That is the lesson. And he has never forgotten it.

A sharp knock on the doorframe breaks Helvar’s concentration.

“The goblin you requested,” a Legionnaire says.

Helvar nods. “Bring her in.”

Veshka steps inside. Her manacles clink as she stops across the table.

“Veshka, please sit and get comfortable,” Helvar says in Mishikwe.

She lifts her bound wrists. “If you want me comfortable, why put these on me?” she replies in Durask.

Helvar leans back, stroking his beard — the slightly unkempt look of a man who has slept too little and worked too long. “The Senior Legionnaire requires all of Bruna’s Children to wear restraints when away from their people. They fear you. I can’t change that.”

Veshka glances toward the Legionnaire standing in the doorway and snarls. “You are a coward. I walked the Grand Market with your kind, and now you fear me.”

The Legionnaire takes a step forward.

“STOP.” Helvar rises, voice sharp and commanding. “You enter this building only on my orders. Do you understand, or shall Elder Dorgath Ember‑Voice and I lodge a formal writ against you?”

“No, sir.” The Legionnaire scowls but backs away, eyes never leaving Veshka.

Helvar sits again, his expression softening as he turns back to her.

“You may stand if you prefer, or sit. I’m sitting — it’s easier for me to take notes.” He gestures to a small pot of root tea. “I also have root-tea, if you’d like some.”

Veshka exhales slowly, regaining her composure. “Even if you can’t remove these, root-tea sounds good.” She sits as Helvar fills a cloth cup and hands it to her.

“So, you worked with Peacekeepers during Aniniwiniwin Awnin?”

She nods as she sips her tea. “Yes. During the ‘days of peace’, I often walked with your Peacekeepers. They were strong and honorable.”

Helvar smiles. “Yes, they were. Before I ask anything from you, do you — or your Elders — have any requests to make the lives of your people better?”

She pauses. “I heard you say you work for an Elder. Is this true?”

He nods.

She sighs. “Okay. The infants and new mothers need milk. The food we are fed is what we see you feed the Legion, so we only request milk or mushroom‑milk, so we can keep the young healthy.”

On a separate barkskin, he writes in Durask: goat milk.

“I will see what I can do. We might be able to get some chilled bladders of watered goats’ milk.” He sets the stylus down. “If I tried to explain mushroom‑milk to the Legion supply clerks, I’d confuse them and you’d end up with mushroom flour instead.”

She laughs at that. “We could teach them how to make it.” The iron chain clinks on the table and she immediately frowns. “No trust.”

“I will do what I can. You are doing the best you can for your people. Hopefully soon the Legion will escort you to the River Goblins.”

She brightens. “Is that truly the plan? We’ve heard so little.”

“That is the plan I was told. It makes sense. Your Elders and young are better helped by your own people, and to get there, Protectors like you are needed.”

She refills her cup. “This is hopeful. What do you need from me?”

“Can you give me the names of all the Protectors?”

She quickly names the other five — the same ones the Legion listed as ‘troublemakers.’

“Okay. In your group, are there any border guards?”

She shakes her head. “No. They all either died or went Deep‑deep. They don’t like groups. Too loud and too bright.”

He makes a note and gives her a polite, practiced smile. “Of course. Do you have any stone‑listeners in the group?”

She pauses. “Not that I know of. I can ask around. Will that help?”

“Anything you can tell me is helpful.”

He closes his barkskin and stands. “Let me walk with you. I would hate for you to have an accident on the way back to your area.”

She gives him a knowing look and switches to Durask. “Yes, please walk with me. The way could be treacherous. I would hate to fall and get hurt.”

“Yes. Let’s walk together. Legionnaire, please lead the way.”