Expansion - Chapter 21

 

Helvar – Changes

“There are bodies everywhere!” a voice calls down from the upper tunnels, breathless and excited.

Helvar steps out of the Chapel, tucking his barkskin notes into a pocket of his robe. Yivra, Thavrin, Elder Bromvek, and a Senior Legionnaire all converge toward the sound.

A dwarf—Korrin, Helvar recalls—stands at the bottom of the ramp, still wearing his climbing harness, chest heaving.

“What’s that?” Yivra asks.

“Whose bodies, and where?” Thavrin adds.

Elder Bromvek and the Legionnaire remain silent, waiting.

Helvar moves closer, concern tightening his brow.

Korrin straightens. “I was climbing the air vents like we discussed. Yes, the snowfall blocked some of them. They’ll melt in time, but when the Legion used smoke… there wasn’t anywhere for it to go.”

Thavrin and Yivra nod grimly. “But you said bodies?” Yivra presses.

Korrin swallows. “Down in the Traders’ Pass. They look frozen.”

Elder Bromvek frowns. “No one uses the pass in winter. Both ends are too easy to block with snow and ice.” 

He turns to the Legionnaire. “Hadrun, do you know anything about this?”

Hadrun shakes his head. “No. We’ve limited all activity to inside the mountain for the season. We don’t patrol the passes until spring.”

“I don’t think they were dwarves,” Korrin says quietly. “I think they were all goblins.”

“Goblins in the snow?” Thavrin mutters. “Unheard of. River and Swamp Goblins shouldn’t be anywhere near the high passes.”

Korrin looks to Hadrun. “Can the Legion send a rescue team? There might be survivors.”

Hadrun hesitates. “I’ll write an observation report and send it to headquarters in Durnbim Hold. How many bodies did you see?”

“Dozens,” Korrin says. “I didn’t get a good count.”

Thavrin nods. “Help him make an official report. Then give your notes to Yivra. If you need to map more vents and the bell for Stone‑Rest hasn’t sounded, return to where you left off.”

 

Helvar quietly slips back into the Chapel office. He opens his barkskins and writes quickly:

‘Goblins abandoned in the pass’

‘No Protectors or Scouts’

‘Winter—pass closed’

He closes the barkskin and steps into the main part of the Chapel.

“Durn, we follow your path,” he begins, voice low but edged with anger. “But purity of spirit does not mean corrupting it with hate. Show me what I must do. Our own people are straying from the path. Guide me.”

Elder Bromvek enters softly, approaching with gentle steps. “Acolyte Helvar, if you need guidance, I’m here.”

Helvar looks at him—an Elder he barely knows. “I’m having doubts,” he admits. “I know the Path of Durn. I’ve studied the laws. But I see our own people breaking them in Durn’s name.”

Bromvek gestures to a bench. “Sit. Speak freely.”

Helvar sits, but only for a moment. As Bromvek leans in, Helvar’s training snaps back into place. This is not a Silent Hammer debriefing. This Elder is not cleared.

This is wrong.

Helvar rises, smoothing his robe. “Elder, I’m alright. I had a moment of weakness, but speaking with you reminded me of Durn’s Laws and the True Path. My doubts are gone. Thank you.”

Bromvek studies him with concern. “Are you certain?”

“I am,” Helvar says. “I should return to my duties. The end of Midday approaches.”

The Elder stands. “Very well. If you have further concerns, my door is open.”

“Of course, Elder.”

Helvar bows and steps away—his face calm, but quietly seething underneath.

 

Helvar stands at the bell, ready to sound Work‑Resumption. Engineers and miners have more bells than the Legion, but the purpose is the same: mark the times that matter.

From the western tunnel, the sound of marching boots echoes into the hall.

Helvar turns — expecting the brown leather and stone‑grey uniforms of the Legion of Stone — but instead sees black iron plate, polished and cold.

“This isn’t good,” he whispers.

He strikes the bell hard, sounding the alarm instead of the hour.

 

Leaders of Root‑Stone Hearth emerge at once — Thavrin, Yivra, Elder Bromvek, Slate‑Leader Hadrun — all staring as a full company of Iron Legion soldiers march into the hall.

At their head walks a dwarf whose beard is braided with battle awards, rank‑runes carved directly into his armor.

“I am Forge‑Commander Vargan Iron‑Reeve,” he announces, voice carrying like a hammer blow. “This operation is now under the jurisdiction of the Iron Legion.”

Hadrun steps forward. “I am Slate‑Leader Hadrun Slate‑Ward of the Legion of Stone. I have received no orders relieving me of my duties here.”

Vargan hands him a sealed scroll. “These are your orders.”

Helvar watches Hadrun read them — the tightening jaw, the resigned nod.

“My men and I will pack up and return to Durnbim Hold.”

“Make sure you take the engineers with you,” Vargan adds.

Thavrin approaches, bristling. “What’s this?”

“This operation is now under Iron Legion control,” Vargan repeats. “Military engineers will continue your work. Pack your equipment and leave with the Legion of Stone.”

 

Two dwarves step from the ranks — armored, but bearing the symbols of Durn rather than weapons.

“I am Chaplain Morgran Stone‑Cantor,” the elder says, “and this is my acolyte, Rulik Grey‑Mantle. We will see to the spiritual needs of the Legion. Please depart with the others.”

Elder Bromvek stiffens. “I have tended the spiritual needs of this settlement since its occupation.”

Chaplain Morgran smiles — warm, but immovable. “A task you have done well. Return to the Grand Chapel at Durnbim Hold. If you are needed elsewhere, you will be told there.”

Bromvek exhales sharply, his frustration plain and visible, but the black armor before him leaves no room for argument. “Of course. Helvar, help me pack.”

“Of course, Elder.”

Before he can move, an iron‑gloved hand settles heavily on Helvar’s shoulder.

A voice speaks in soft Mishikwe, low enough that only Helvar hears:

“Leave your notes. Go with your Elder. At Durnbim Hold, you will be sent on a spiritual retreat. Do as you are told. We are still needed.”

Then, louder, in Durask: “Travel safely on Durn’s path, fellow acolyte.”

  

Elder Bromvek has a push‑cart that holds all his belongings, and Helvar takes the handles, pushing it down the tunnel. Members of the Legion of Stone march ahead, the engineers follow in a tight cluster, and two legionnaires trail behind as rear guard.

“I would help you push, Helvar,” Bromvek says between breaths, “but keeping this pace is difficult enough.”

“I understand, Elder. I don’t mind. I put my few belongings on top.”

“Such a clever lad,” the Elder says warmly.

 

Helvar tries to listen to the gossip ahead of him, but the tunnel twists the sound—boots, wheels, echoes, and fragments of conversation blending together.

“…related to the dead bodies…”

“…military engineers aren’t surveyors…”

“…should’ve been Legion of Stone, not Iron Legion…”

“…what now…”

“…Guild will have further word…”

Helvar shakes his head, irritated. If he could hear more clearly, he might piece together the truth. But Rulik’s whispered warning returns to him: “You will be sent on a spiritual retreat.”

There is only one place that means. Khar‑Durnath. The Monastery of the Deep Quiet.

He hasn’t been there since completing his training—since being added to the pool of acolytes who “walk unseen.” If he is to remain one of Durn’s Silent Hammers, he will obey. That is what he was shaped to do.

And yet… as he pushes the cart, a cold thought settles in his chest.

So many leaders are missing the bigger picture. 

Maybe ending the ‘Days of Peace’ was wrong. 

Maybe…

He pauses without meaning to.

“Maybe I have lost my way,” he mutters.

“No, Helvar,” Elder Bromvek says gently. “This tunnel leads straight to Durnbim Hold. You can’t lose your way.”

Helvar forces a smile. “Of course, Elder. I was just lost in thought. You’ll keep me on the path.”

But inside, the path feels so twisted.