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.”

The Collapsing Tunnel - Chapter 10

 

10 – Ana – Tunnels along the Border

“This is a good team,” Ana thinks, “I just wish we were on the border and not pulled so far back.” The other scouts are slowly preparing positions to spring from, as the stone listeners track this latest incursion.

The scouts want to talk to break the tension, but even the youngest is too well disciplined for that. The small sound of gloved hands on stone, using the tapping code.

“More miners every day”

“Punished were released.”

“Same ones more than once.”

Ana looks around in the dark shadows only broken by the natural glow moss. No one will use lamps or glow pods until they need to.

“Silence” taps a Stone-listener. “Metal on stone”

They all pause. Mihru motions for his apprentice, Brakka, to slowly move around the area to try to feel the dimensions of the sounds.

The scouts silently shift positions to work without distraction.

 

“I wish Waad had been wrong.” Ana thinks, “When he and the elders briefed us, they warned that the dwarves were getting more bold and destructive.”

Ana signals Mihru, then taps “moving closer or away”?

He slowly nods his head. “Close,” he taps.

At that point, they all feel it — multiple sharp pings of metal on stone from below.

A mixed blessing.

Digging means no blasting.

But digging also means more than a couple ‘lone-wolf miners’.

Ana taps: “Stay alert. Stay silent.”

She climbs upward using her climbing claws, finding a narrow ledge above the tunnel.

Farther down, Dovren mirrors her, scaling the opposite wall. They nod to each other as they anchor in and ready their bows.

On the ground, Neshka, Tovik, and Rishan uncoil their bolos. Their extra nets, ropes, and tools sit just outside Mihru’s listening circle — close enough to grab, far enough not to interfere.

 

The digging stops.

A terrible stillness settles.

“Bruna, bless us all”, Ana thinks.

She taps: “Blast. Move back.”

She and Dovren sling their bows and plug their ears.

 

The cavern erupts.

The floor blasts upward in a shower of stone and dust. Even with their ears covered, the pressure slams into them like a hammer. A high, piercing ring fills Ana’s ears — like the meal‑time bell, struck too hard.

The team blinks grit from their eyes and readies themselves.

 

Light shines up from the hole as booted feet scramble on stone.

“Told you we’d blast through!” a dwarven voice shouts.

Ana nocks an arrow and nods to Mihru.

He lifts the speaking horn and calls down in clear, formal Durask:

“Do not enter. You are breaking the law. If you enter this tunnel, you will be arrested and detained.”

“It’s Durn’s Will!” someone roars back, followed by cheers.

“Give us the gold and we’ll go home!”

Mihru answers, voice steady:

“Bruna’s Holy Blood is not here. Do not enter Goblin lands.”

A different voice screams:

“They lie! They keep Durn’s blessings from you! Rise up and kill them all!”

The light grows brighter.

A lamp rises toward the lip of the hole.

Ana shoots it.

Glass shatters. The lamp falls, sputtering out.

“Arrows!” someone yells.

“Don’t fear animals! Durn protects you! Charge them!”

More light from the hole.

The first dwarf climbs out.

Tovik’s bolo snaps around him, binding arms and legs — but two more dwarves scramble up behind him, picks held like weapons.

“Keep moving! Bring more light! Show these animals Durn’s holy light!”

A fresh lamp rises with two more dwarves.

Neshka and Rishan throw their bolos, tangling two of them as Dovren fires at the lamp‑bearer.

“My hand!” a dwarf screams as the arrow pierces through his palm.

He drops the lamp, and Ana shoots it as it hits the ground, plunging the tunnel back into darkness.

“More light! More light!”

Tovik grabs a net and throws it over two dwarves stumbling out of the hole.

“Run! They’re too strong!” someone shouts from below.

“Cowards! Don’t fear animals! Durn will protect you!”

Ana drops from the wall, grabs another net, and leaps into the hole.

She lands on the ramp and casts the net over two climbing dwarves.

Boots thunder as dwarves flee away from where they came.

She pulls the net tight, scanning the shadows.

A faint silk‑on‑stone whisper brushes her hearing — but the ringing from the blast makes it impossible to place.

“Did someone go up?” she yells.

“Only the ones we captured!” Tovik calls back.

Then — a wet, gurgled gasp.

 “What happened?” Ana shouts, putting out the last of the lamps and dragging the netted dwarves up the ramp. They struggle, but the silk holds.

“Dead dwarf,” Dovren says, voice low. She kneels beside the dwarf with the arrow wound.

“How?”

“Throat slashed.”

Ana’s irritation spikes. “Who has a blade?”

Every scout shows empty hands, nets, or rope.

Ana’s stomach sinks.

“There will be an inquiry. The Peacekeepers will not like this.”

They all nod.

A soft chuckle echoes from the dark.

Ana stiffens. Someone else is here.

But they have six live captives and a body to bring to the border.

She taps to Neshka: “Intruder in shadows. Stay. Watch.”

Neshka nods and helps haul the captives to their feet.

“We’ll wait for the tunnel‑sealers,” Mihru says. Brakka nods beside him. “Any notes for them?”

Ana answers: “Some escaped back down the tunnel. Seal it well.” Then signs: “Stay vigilant. Enemy nearby.”

“Understood.”

Anger and frustration churn in her gut. No one should have died. She blows the whistle — the sharp note echoing down the tunnels — then taps loudly: “Violators captured. Meet at the border post. One dead.”

A whistle answers from the border, followed by taps: “Meet you there.”

For once, Ana hopes it’s Kavran and Dulmir on duty.

She needs a familiar face. Someone who will listen.

At the border post, the lamp‑light is bright and blinding. The scouts all pull on their eye‑covers.

They bring the captives to the borderline — still bound in goblin rope ties and nets, and place the dead body on the ground, as a dwarf with Senior Peacekeeper rank steps forward.

“What happened?” he asks.

“They attacked us!” a dwarf yells. “They killed Helmir!” another shouts. “They’re hiding gold!” “They’re forging coins!”

“Quiet, you lot!” Senior Peacekeeper Hurn snaps. Then, switching to Mishikwe, he asks Ana, “What happened? How was he killed?”

Beside him, Peacekeeper Lora is already moving through the captives, removing the goblin ties and replacing them with metal manacles. The clink of iron is sharp and solid.

Ana answers in Durask, “We don’t know. He was wounded by an arrow, but we found his throat cut, and none of us have blades.”

One of the dwarves snarls, “The priest was right! They kill us and lie!”

“Enough,” Hurn growls. “One more word, and Peacekeeper Lora will gag each of you.” He turns back to Ana. “Continue your report, Border Scout. And where are your barkskins?”

“We didn’t have time to take notes,” Ana says, the heat of her frustration rising. “They used blasting powder and picks to breach our tunnels. We have a sealing crew repairing it.”

Hurn scowls. “Notes are important. Did you record the time or the exact location of the breach?”

Ana bristles. “Senior Peacekeeper, we have prisoners. They violated the border. They have mining equipment. What more do you require?”

Before Hurn can answer, Lora cuts in, voice clipped but controlled. “We don’t have enough manacles. We’ll need help transporting them to headquarters for processing.”

Ana looks to her people. Dovren and Tovik nod. “We have two volunteers who can assist,” Ana says.

“She’s the one who killed Helmir!” a miner shouts, pointing at Dovren.

Hurn’s eyes narrow. “You’d better accompany us anyway, so we can get this sorted out.” He turns to Ana. “The rest of you can go. We’ll tell you when to be at the Hall of Disputes.” Then he gruffly checks the metal manacles, tying the remaining prisoners together with Border Scout rope.

Ana meets Rishan’s eyes — wide, anxious — and then steps back into the shadows.

 

The Collapsing Tunnel - Chapter 9

 

9 – Tesh – The Tangled Web

“This is an exercise in cooperation, not just skill.” Master Varu-Gashki states as he walks around the large room. The three apprentices concentrate on passing lines from one to another.

“Any skilled ropemaker can make a net with tied connections,” He continues, “but today you are making one without central ties, and only connections on the edges.”

Master Shii, the goblin weaver, is also pacing and watching. “Yes, listen to Master Varu. Keep your lines tight, work together. Craft a web worthy of a Deep-deep spider.” He says in accented Durask.

Nibin, the young goblin apprentice, pauses for a second and comments in Mishikwe, “I wish I was a spider, then this would be easy.”

Master Varu snorts and laughs, answering in his accented Mishikwe, “Yes, you could stand, spread your legs, and shoot silk. But you would still have to learn to weave.”

The three apprentices pause and giggle for a moment. Tesh imagines his classmates shooting webs from their bottoms. He guesses they are all thinking the same thing.

Master Varu taps his booted foot on the floor. “Now that you’ve had a laugh, focus on what’s at hand.”

By the end of the day, they finish the net, but its tension is uneven, and a few of the areas have natural gaps. Both masters evaluate it as the students mount it on the wall.

“Unacceptable.” Master Varu says in a low tone.

“It’s their first try. Re-weave tomorrow or….”

“No,” Varu says in clear Durask. “Let this be a reminder of their failures to work together. Tomorrow they will make a new one.”

“I see the wisdom in your teachings. I agree.”

 

The evening bell and horn sounds for Ember-Rest.

The three apprentices curl and uncurl their sore fingers as they go to the washroom.

“Now we have that to see every day.” Garin says.

“Would you have preferred Master Varu telling us to untie it and redo it?” Tesh asks.

They all shudder at that thought.

“Did you hear the news?” Kweze asks as she hurries into the washroom. “Mosek is back. I saw him in the market.”

“I saw him too,” Zhaawa happily exclaims. “He came to the School’s stall and brought us supplies from Deep-deep.”

“When we talked with the Guild apprentices, they said he paid in Goblin gold,” Britta says as she washes up.

“You lie, he wouldn’t use the Holy Blood of Bruna as coins.” Kweze defensively states.

Britta smiles broadly. “You wish it were a lie. When the Guild apprentices came to the School running errands for the Guild, they told us all about it. Zhaawa knows. According to them, he paid the School for glass jars.”

Everyone looks to Zhaawa. Tesh quietly asks. “Is it true? Did Mosek pay the school in goblin gold?”

She glares at Britta. “That’s not what happened. Mosek told my Master that, in payment to honor a debt to the Mihkwa, he gave glass jars, and to make sure the school wasn’t at a loss, he paid in coins from his own purse. Dwarven coins.”

Britta sneers and smiles. “Of course that’s what you believe. That of course, is more believable than Goblins have gold coins with counterfeit dwarf stamps on them.”

“Why are you not at the Table” the Cook yells into the washroom.

“This isn’t over, Britta.” Zhaawa angrily exclaims.

 

The meal is tense. The Forge students whisper and laugh, while the others try to focus on the joy that “the Old Bear is back in the community.” Their joy is spoiled by rumor and distrust.

More than once, Master Helka Stone-Anvil has to get up and quiet her students. She finally says, “If there is something that needs shared in this Hall. Share it. We all want to know.”

Britta stands up, bows to her master. “We all rejoice in the return of one of our own from the wilderness. We were just saying that we hope the Healer and the Priest, when they examine his wounds, find him free of infection and rot. The Clan Halls are stronger from his presence.”

A low grumble starts among the Bimkor.

“Silence,” the dwarven Smith commands. “Apprentice Britta Stone-Breaker, step away from the table, apologize to the Hall, and follow me to my office. Now!” she directs in clear, direct Durask.

Thorek, reassuringly, squeezes her hand as she gets up.

“I apologize if I created a disruption.”

She then follows her Master.

The Collapsing Tunnel - Chapter 8

 

8 – Mosek – Return to the Grand Market

As he walks slowly through the tunnels, Mosek uses his staff for balance. Shaatka silently pushes the cart, whose wheels squeak a bit on the travel-worn path.

“Thank you for helping me. I’m sorry that I am moving so slow.” Mosek.

Shaatka Niiwazi sympathetically smiles, “I am honored to help however I can, Hairy Old Bear.”

“I wish I were younger and stronger. You’d make an enjoyable bedmate.”

“Even at full strength, I think I would exhaust you.” She teasingly responds.

Mosek, smiles, it’s the first joke she’s made on her way to the Grand Market.

He looks appreciatively at her strong, but fluid form wearing the linens and silks of a Protector. “You are probably right. I’ll have to find me a lonely Mama Bear within the Clans.”

Her small glow-moss lantern hangs from a hook on the cart, casting moving shadows along the tunnel walls.

“Instead of entering the Market with the cart. Let’s take the Merchant’s Tunnel. Peacekeepers will inspect the cart before we cross the border.” He explains.

She nods and points to her unstrung bow and arrows sticking out of the central portion of the cart. “Will these cause problems? I could have left them with others.”

He thinks for a moment as he sees the first markers.

“You are a Protector, and you are guarding me, so it shouldn’t be an issue. But I’m glad you are thinking.”

“Will you need me to cross the border?” She asks.

“Maybe. I might have one of the Bimkor help me, but I haven’t arranged anything.”

She nods as she steadily pushes the cart.

The light of the Cavern changes from solely Shaatka’s lamp to the brighter blue-green lanterns and yellow oil lamps of the Market staging space.

“Mosek!” an older Naawaii-wakwan loudly says as he stops unloading his cart.

Shaatka stops and watches as a variety of Bimkor rush to greet him.

Children hug him, then run under the red rope of the not-yet-opened Market entrance.

“Happy to see you.”

“Heard you were crushed.”

“Blessings of Bruna”

“Her Holy Blood healed you.”

The rush of voices merge around him.

 

After a moment, Shaatka steps forward. “Please let him rest a moment.”

Mosek lets out an exaggerated sigh as he feels overwhelmed. “It took almost twice as long to return. I wanted to be here yesterday.”

On the Market side of the red rope, a small crowd gathers. A slightly impatient dwarf says, “When you have time, we have accounts to settle.”

“He will, he always has.” A goblin instructor from Two Forges says, and then yells to Mosek. “Take your time. Your slate is probably filled with more than we expect.”

 The Market Peacekeepers raise the rope. “Market is Open,” they call.

 Mosek motions for Shaatka to push the cart to the Merchant’s tunnel, but the impatient Metal merchant comes up to Mosek. “I understand you were hurt, but you had been gone so much longer than usual. Your account is overdue.” He points to Shaatka. “Have your goblin woman unload and bring things straight to my table.”

Shaatka silently grips the handles of the cart and tightens her lips.

But Mosek nods and leans on his staff. “You are correct. I have been gone for a long time, and accounts need to be settled. Return to your stall. We will be there after we unload.”

The grumpy dwarf comments “Don’t take too long.” As he returns to the Grand Market.

In a soft voice, Mosek explains. “You might hear some ugly slurs. I didn’t realize my delay had caused problems. If you can carry and deliver the goods to the tables, I’ll bring the slate and my purse.”

She nods and removes the items he points to, laying them on the ground. “We’ll deal with the Smith Guild first. They are apparently the most worried.”

He looks at the slate, and most of the metal tools are marked Khur-dathun. Shaking his purse he counts the gold coins. He’ll purchase them directly. There are a few cooking utensils that were purchased with chitin and woven blankets. Some rolls of spider silk, dried mosses, and lichen were traded for School-made items. Mosek has Shaatka separate the items based on which merchant needs to be paid. “Before the Guild gets too impatient, let’s pay them first and then return for the others.”

She nods, picks up the items, and a few unsold tools.

Shaatka puts on a pair of carapace slit shades to help with the bright lights of the Grand Market. She notices she is one of the few wearing them, so her eyes will probably adjust quickly, and she feels more comfortable wearing them.  Mosek doesn’t react.

 With his slate in one hand and his staff in the other, he slowly enters the market. He feels hands patting him on the back, while others are extended for a shake. He smiles, holds up the slate, and nods to the Guild run tables. Soon the novelty of his return as lessened.

At the Smithing Guild Table, he smiles at a scowling old dwarf, flanked by his apprentices, all wearing guild badges.

“You called, and I am here,” Mosek says in a joking manner. He passes his slate to the Guild Dwarf, who starts counting off items. Shaatka places each item on the table as they are called off, starting first with unsold items, then moving to the carapace pieces, bone dust flux, and finally the woven blankets.

The Guild apprentices look with wonder at the strange shimmering silk blankets.

“Without a mechanical loom?” one whispers. The other nods before the Guild master grumpily says, “Silence. We are balancing the ledger.”

He then gets to the items marked Khur-dathun. He scowls. “I suppose I am to take a loss because you were hurt in the wilderness and they treated you.”

Mosek shakes his head, pulls out his purse, then counts out gold coins.

The apprentices gasp, not expecting to see coins from a Bimkor trader.

“You’ll not lose a thing, Guild Master. All accounts are settled.”

A few of the other customers notice the gold coins and then look at Shaatka standing silently.

“Never seen a Deep-deep trader pay in gold”

“Pay it. They wired him up with it.”

“Are those official royal marks on them?”

“She’s wearing a prybar.”

“Paid for it with gold?”

The Guild Master sweeps up the coins and then hands back the slate. “Mosek Broad-Path. Your account with the Smithing Guild has been settled.”

Mosek nods and motions for Shaatka to lead the way back to the cart.

 

A Priest of Durn softly places his hand on Mosek. “When you have completed your commercial obligations, please find me. I have a healer who wishes to inspect your injuries. We have to verify that you do not carry any infection or rot before you move into the Clan strongholds.”

Mosek nods and grips his staff. “Of course. I am a Child of Durn and obey his laws.”

 

Shaatka is more comfortable when they take the items to the Two Forges School stall. The Master Instructor there speaks directly to her in Mishikwe, asking whether she is enjoying the market and if her journey was peaceful, before focusing on Mosek and balancing the books.

The Collapsing Tunnel - Chapter 7

 

7 – Ana / Ashke – Patrolling the Grand Market

Once again, the wool uniform feels stiff and confining against her skin. Ana adjusts the bright red sash crossing her chest and the bronze badge pinning it in place, wishing she had her eye protectors.  “I feel like a dwarf beacon lamp, and it’s so bright.”

Ashke laughs softly. “That’s what you are today, Red Shadow. You’ll get used to it. It makes it easier to watch things in the Market.”

His own uniform hangs comfortably on him, the fabric softened and wrinkled with years of use. She tries to smile back. “Shall we report to the station and meet our new partners?”

He nods and leads the way. Merchants are still unpacking their wares as the two goblin guards step over the thick rope marking the Grand Market as not yet open for business.

The Protectors’ booth is carved directly into the stone wall — a remnant of the old border post. The last piece of the original dividing line still survives inside, while elsewhere it has worn away smooth by time and traffic.

Ana is relieved to see Waad as the Elder on Duty. She knows Ashke, but rarely works with him. Waad nods to them both and lifts the roster, written in both Mishikwe and Durask.

“You are early. Good. It sets a strong example for the Peacekeepers to see you already here and ready.”

Ana feels a brief smile of pride before she forces her expression back into the steady, neutral look expected of a guardian.

“Is she always so stiff, Waad?” Ashke asks.

“You know shadows don’t like light,” Waad replies. “She’s fine. Aren’t you, Ana?”

She nods, then glances toward the dwarven entrance.

All three Peacekeepers march in synchronized steps, the senior softly singing a cadence to keep them in time. Ana shivers. They don’t look like the vigilant border guardians she’s used to — they look like the Iron Legion of legend, boots striking stone in perfect rhythm.

Her hand drifts toward her baton.

Ashke gently places his hand over hers. “Relax, Red Shadow. This is how they arrive. Dwarven merchants expect them to march.”

“The previous times I patrolled the Market, they were already here,” she murmurs.

Waad smiles. “Yes, the couple of times you’ve been here, you arrived after them. This changes nothing.”

The Senior Peacekeeper calls, “Halt.” The three stop as one. He steps forward and bows his head to Waad.

“Today’s Peacekeepers, reporting for duty. May I see the roster?”

Waad hands it to him.

The Senior turns to his two subordinates. “According to today’s roster: Dulmir Iron‑Vigil, you are paired with Noonda Ashkwa‑Mishig. Kavran Stone‑Oath, you are paired with Ashke Wenii‑Gwenewin. I will remain here if you encounter any problems or require assistance. Questions?”

Both dwarves bow their heads. “No questions, Senior Peacekeeper.”

They separate and approach their assigned Protectors to introduce themselves.

Dulmir shakes Ashke’s hand, then Ana’s. “Shall we begin on the dwarf side or the goblin side?”

Ana expects Waad or Ashke to answer — but all three pairs of eyes turn to her.

She straightens her back, imitating the Peacekeeper’s posture. “We should start on the dwarf side. Show the merchants we are here and ready for the Market to open.”

Ashke nods, suppressing a smile. “Good for me. Shall we head out, Peacekeeper Stone‑Oath?”

Kavran bows his head and follows Ashke toward the goblin entrance.

Dulmir turns to Ana. “Are you ready, Zhul‑durak? The Market will open soon.”

She nods, though her eyes narrow with caution.

They begin their morning patrol in silence. Ana moves with the quiet precision of a Scout, watching shadows, corners, and the flow of early foot traffic. Dulmir walks with his head high, smiling at each merchant as if greeting old friends.

Twice, Ana notices Bimkor children whispering and pointing at red‑tagged items — the start of the Market game. Each time she flicks a hand‑sign toward them: ‘seen’. The game is lost before it begins.

She adds a second sign toward Dulmir: ‘stone warrior’. A warning.

The children scatter, suddenly very interested in being helpful runners instead of troublemakers.

Dulmir glances at her, amused. “Efficient.”

Ana shrugs. “Today is not a good day to play.”

 

The rest of the morning is calm as they move from one side of the Market to the other. Slow, steady steps — the kind that reassure merchants and customers alike that guardians are present, watching, maintaining the peace.

Only one thing unsettles Ana: the whispers.

They drift from stalls selling metal tools, rope coils, and other supplies she associates with lone‑wolf miners.

“Use golden wire to patch wounds.”

“So much gold they spin it into thread.”

“Never seen any on the border.”

“Gotta dig deep. Deep‑deep.”

“Priests say Durn’s Gifts belong to us.”

 

Each time Ana and Dulmir draw near, the whispers stop. Voices rise, suddenly loud and mundane.

“If the handle breaks, you replace it for free, yes?”

“How much weight can this rope hold?”

“Is this spider‑silk or river hemp?”

Market questions. Safe questions. Questions meant to hide whatever they were saying before.

Ana’s ears twitch, but she keeps walking.

Soon, the Mid‑Bite Caller’s chime echoes through the Market. Merchants finish their last transactions and begin to close their stalls for the meal break.

As the tables are pushed into the center and benches are brought out, Ana sees Waad and the Senior Guardian bring large baskets. “Hopefully, they packed something good.”

“Don’t they usually?” Dulmir asks as he sits down.

“I’m so used to packing my own along the border, I’m not sure what’s normal here.” She sits next to him. From the baskets, tin plates and utensils are pulled out, and then Waad lays out a platter of Root-mash patties, right next to a large plate of some sort of sliced meat.

“Mmmm Iron-cured marching meat.” Dulmir says as he licks his lips.

Ana looks a little confused by it. Waad winks at her and pulls out a large, wrapped bundle. He unwraps stacks of Glow-moss sweetcakes. “Zhooniyaa‑mashk‑miin!” she excitedly says.

“Of course.” Waad explains, “We need to share our favorite things with our new partners. Isn’t that what the Listeners-of-Bruna would tell you?”

She nods, takes a tin plate, puts a cake on it, along with a root-mash patty, then hands it to Dulmir. “If you try the root-mash patty, I’ll try some ‘iron meat’.”

“Iron-cured marching meat,” he unthinkingly corrects her, as he dishes a plate for her, and they switch. Durable tin cups are placed in front of them as Ashke and Kavran arrive. They take a bench next to them and start filling plates too.

“Sorry for the delay. There was a misunderstanding about the value of some items.”

The Senior Peacekeeper looks up.

“Is it something that needs reporting, Peacekeeper Stone-Oath?”

“No, sir. It was a simple misunderstanding between a merchant and the visiting customer. If we’d apprehended anyone, we’d have reported it immediately.”

Ashke nods, which Waad sees and returns.

 

The ceramic pot of Stone stew makes its way down to their table. But before anyone can dish up, the Mid-Bite Caller offers his blessing. At the end, Dulmir makes the sign of Durn while Ashke drums a prayer to Bruna on the table. Ana takes a moment of silence. It is broken by “Do you want some of the stew? Maybe the salty sliced meat goes well with it?”

She ladles some on her plate and then passes the pot.

The meat is salty. She takes a drink of root-tea to wash it down.

She then cuts the meat up into chunks and moves them into the spicy sauce of the stew.

That is a more familiar flavor for her.

Soon her plate is mostly empty. She notices that Dulmir hasn’t touched his glow-moss sweetcake yet. Ana picks hers up and takes a small bite. Nodding for him to do the same.

“Mmmm that’s sweet. It looks so different, I wasn’t sure how it tasted.” He admits.

“Down in the caverns, my family makes these a few times a month. We have them sparingly because they are so good.”

Ashke chuckles, “And a fat shadow is a poor protector.”

“I can’t imagine her being fat. She is every bit the Zhul‑durak of our stories.”

She turns towards Dulmir. “Is that why you always call me that, because I look like the shadow hunter from your stories?”

“No. My Grandfather was a Peacekeeper. As I was growing up, he told me of the stealthy but honorable ‘shadow hunters’ who guarded the border. He was always in awe of their skill. When I first saw you, bringing in prisoners, you were his stories come to life.”

Ana refills her cup and thinks about it. “Are all your family Peacekeepers? I hear that dwarf clans try to stay to the same professions when they can.”

Kavran comments, “Not his family, but that’s how it is in mine. We’ve got generations of Peacekeepers, both inside the mountain and out.”

Dulmir nods, “Most of my family is in the military. We have long ties to the Iron Legion. My parents were not too happy when I became a Peacekeeper, but I told them I’d rather be an active guardian of the peace than a warrior without a war.”

Ana reflects on this as she finishes her meal.