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?”