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.