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.