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.