Expansion - Chapter 4

 

4 – Brikel – His new home

The bell marking Stone‑Rest rings from the Chapel, its tone rolling through the tunnels like a slow breath. Brikel sets his equipment down in the outer alcove of his apartment. He sighs as he hears the boots of the Legion of Stone assembling in the central courtyard for shift change — the familiar clatter of discipline and routine.

In the small hearth niche, he works the pump he installed himself. Cold mountain spring water fills the basin, carrying the faint mineral smell he’s grown used to. Better that than the sharp sting of limewash and disinfectant that clung to the place when he first arrived. He splashes his face, arms, and neck, then dries off with the rough, woven towel. The texture grounds him.

As he hangs the towel to dry, his eyes drift to the Ore Clan emblem mounted on the wall.

“Home but not home,” he mutters.

Before Hearth‑Meal, he checks his equipment. The grum‑tal,‘timelamp,’ is refilled; he wipes cave dust from the hour marks on the tall cylinder and makes sure the wick is out. He sets it beside the polished brass lamp and tops that one off as well.

His stomach rumbles as a team of Legionnaires marches out of the courtyard. He still has a few tasks before the evening meal.

Sitting on a stool, he unrolls the large tunnel map across the table. With a sharpened graphite stick, he adds the new contours, adjusting the scale with careful precision.

“Carefully measure, make your calculations, and then make your marks.” His father’s voice echoes in his mind, steady as bedrock.

A quick tapping on the doorframe breaks his focus.

“Brikel, can I take your notes?” Mardek Slate‑Runner asks, breathless as always.

“Come on in,” Brikel says, checking one last measurement before drawing again.

Mardek watches him work. “I don’t know why you waste time doing this. Yivra has the master map.”

“As I’ve told you before,” Brikel replies, “to become a master surveyor, you have to draw your own maps. They must be accurate, or no one will trust your work.”

“But she draws better than any of us. Why spend time on something only you’ll see?”

Brikel finishes the last line, sets the graphite aside, and gathers the slates. “Here. When you deliver these, ask Yivra if she thinks individual engineers are wasting time copying their notes onto personal maps. Her answer might surprise you.”

“But Olma, Tholgrim, and Brenna don’t make maps as large as you and Yivra,” Mardek says.

“During Hearth‑Meal, share your thoughts with the group. Their answers might surprise you, too.” Brikel puts his drafting tools away. “But hurry, or you’ll be late.”

Mardek nods and darts off down the corridor.

Brikel shakes his head. “I wonder if that’s what I looked like to my father. Too fast, always looking for shortcuts.” He turns toward the Clan emblem again. “I wish you could see me now, Father. I learned. And I hope I make you proud. You and Durn can judge me together.”

 

The dwarven‑style Dining Hall is the only other structure that is obviously newly built. Instead of pushing tables together like the Bimkor once did, the Legion insisted on a proper hall for its troopers. It was the second thing the engineers and miners constructed after the Chapel.

As Brikel enters, he smiles at the support beams — placed exactly where he said they needed to go. One of the few structures that won’t be mined out and cleared away when the Guild digs deeper.

He is one of the first to arrive. He takes a tin plate from the stack and an enameled tin cup. Unlike a Clan Hall, where platters sit in the center of the table, the Legion has cooks and servers lined up along the kitchen wall. “Legion Efficiency,” they called it.

He holds out his plate. A scoop of stone‑stew slops onto it. Then roasted vegetables. Then, a thick slice of mushroom bread. Brikel gives each cook a polite nod as he moves down the line. At the end, he fills his cup from the large decanter and heads toward the long table where the surveyors sit.

He hears familiar voices before he reaches them:

“Hurry up, they’re about to line up in the courtyard.”

“If you get stuck behind them, you’ll only get crumbs.”

“You could use a few meals of only crumbs.”

“Between Stone‑stew and mushroom bread, I’m wasting away as it is.”

The dwarf engineers form an uneven line as they collect their plates and cups, but once they reach the food, they move smoothly — a practiced chaos that somehow works.

 

Brikel greets each one as they sit. Then he hears it:

“We are the Legion of Stone. We stand firm. We don’t break. We are Durn’s Law, solid and forever.”

The Legionnaires enter in formation, almost mechanical. They move through the line like a well‑oiled machine — plates filled, cups poured, steps measured. They sit as one, waiting silently for the Priest’s evening blessing.

 

Brenna Stone-Arc glances around their table. “Looks like Mardek and Yivra are getting crumbs tonight.”

“That’s probably my fault,” Brikel admits, dipping his mushroom bread into the stew’s gravy. “He came for my slates while I was updating my map.”

Korvik Tunnel‑Ear frowns. “You should wait for the Blessing.”

Brikel sets the bread back on his plate and nods. “You’re right. Hopefully, the Priest will arrive soon.”

Tholgrim Brace‑Hammer pokes at his food with his spoon. “If he takes too much longer, Blessing or no, I’m eating.”

Before Brikel can answer, the engineers see Yivra Ember‑Draft, Mardek Slate‑Runner, and Elder Bromvek Iron‑Voice enter the hall. The gentle murmur of the Legion stops instantly. Even the clatter of utensils stills.

The engineers straighten a little — not out of fear, but out of instinct. Bromvek has that effect.

They watch as the priest moves through the line: plate, stew, vegetables, mushroom bread, cup filled from the decanter. He places everything at his seat at the senior leaders’ table, but does not sit.

He surveys the room, then speaks:

“Bow your heads.”

The command is soft, but it carries like a hammer strike.

“Durn, we ask your blessings over us as we come together for this meal. Bless the hands who made it and bless those who now eat it. Give us strength as we continue your work — keeping your domain safe and searching for your gifts. In your name we pray.”

Many of the more devout dwarves make the sign of Durn. Elder Bromvek sits, lifts his spoon, and only then begins eating.

The moment his spoon touches the bowl, the young Legionnaires start eating in perfect unison. The sudden clatter of utensils on tin plates fills the hall like a jumble of falling stones.

Mardek slides into his seat beside Brikel, breathless. “You were right. All engineers—”

“Draft their own maps,” the table finishes for him.

Brikel smiles. It’s the closest thing to a Clan Hall he’s had since leaving home. He eats slowly, savoring the warmth of the food and the company, wondering what is happening back at Ore Clan — and whether they would be proud of him here.