Chapter 11 - Hole in the ground

  The earth began to tremble beneath our feet. Pebbles bounced across the ground as the rumble deepened, rolling through the crust like something ancient stirring awake. A sudden eruption of soil and stone burst from the exact spot where my father had touched the earth. A stout, broad shouldered figure shot upward in a spray of dirt and dust.

  He wore a battered iron helmet and dirt stained leathers worn from long hours beneath the mountain. The dwarf miner blinked rapidly, stunned by the harsh light of the surface sun. His hands gripped a thick wooden shaft that held a heavy iron pickaxe, the metal head still coated in fresh earth.

  Standing barely four feet tall, his presence struck me harder than his height suggested. His shoulders were broad like a rhino's and a thick grey beard spilled down his chest. His skin was the color of old leather and streaked with coal dust. His face was blocky and stern. Bronze clasps gathered the lower half of his beard into twin binds, each engraved with a crest. A pickaxe and hammer crossed before a mountain peak, the mark of a dwarven mining clan.

  Behind the dwarf, the freshly opened tunnel yawned wide, large enough even for a man of my father's size. Support beams framed the entrance. A set of carved stairs led downward into a long horizontal passage lit by torches fixed along the walls. A few dwarves farther down the tunnel glanced up at the sudden sunlight but continued on without stopping.

  The miner finally gathered himself. “What in the nine hells do ye think ye are doin, shocking me while I am workin?” His voice thundered across the clearing like a hammer striking steel.

  My first introduction to an entirely new race was a furious dwarven miner yelling at my father, the North's White Wolf and youngest Tier Four holder on the continent, as if he were a misbehaving child.

  Father responded calmly. “I am Lars Loren. Can you help me get into contact with your clan's administrative head? It is an urgent request.”

  At the mention of a clan head, several dwarves gathered at the stairway inside the tunnel. Curious eyes peeked toward us. Sir Darvish shifted his stance, ready if anything went poorly.

  The miner scowled. “And who in the tunnel cracking hell are you to shock me and then demand to see a clan head? Have the humans lost their minds?”

  A group of dwarves stepped forward, shoulders squared in silent support of their clansman. Darvish began to move, but Father raised his hand and the retainer froze instantly.

  Before anyone could act rashly, Father summoned a medallion into his palm. I barely caught a glimpse of it before he held it up for the dwarf to see.

  “I am a Keeper of the North. You would be wise to fetch your clan head.”

  His presence surged, quiet but undeniable. I feel the pressure of a tier Five class holder pressing down. Leaves detached from the surrounding trees and drifted faster. The wind tightened around the trunks. If anyone looked closely, they would see faint sparks dancing along the edge of Father’s weapon.

  The dwarf miner stopped mid breath. All his anger vanished, replaced with silent shock. For a long moment, he could not find a single insult to throw.

  A voice called out from deeper inside the tunnel. “Now now, Lars. No need to frighten my nephew. Come down and walk with me, young Keeper.”

  An old dwarf stepped into the torchlight. His pace was slow and steady. He waved us forward with ease. Even Father lifted a brow at the unexpected greeting. He gave Darvish and me a hand signal to stay close.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Father inclined his head politely. “Thank you. May I catch your na…” He stopped, chuckled, and corrected himself. “I nearly forgot dwarven customs. Forgive me. I will ask for your name another time. Please lead us to your administrative clan head, Elder.”

  I wondered why Father could not ask his name, but his expression told me the question should wait.

  Father gestured to each of us. “My retainer, Sir Darvish.” Then to me. “My son, and heir to the Loren name, Lance.”

  The Elder gave Darvish a respectful nod. When his eyes landed on me, his fingers twitched slightly. His voice brightened.

  “Oh my, Mr. Lars, your boy is like lightning trapped in a bottle. I am sure the Sham…”

  Father cut him off quickly. “Please, Elder. The clan head.”

  The dwarf cleared his throat, clearly flustered. “Aye. Follow me.” He gave a small smile before turning down the tunnel.

  The passage was taller than I expected for dwarven construction. We needed to bend slightly, yet never uncomfortably. Torches lined the walls in perfect symmetrical spacing. Wooden support beams reinforced the structure. As we descended, we passed carved out sleeping quarters and a mess hall large enough to hold dozens. They had been here a long time.

  The Elder spoke as we walked. “Our mining overseer will meet you in the main hall. I expect he will want to see that medallion of yours, Keeper.”

  The deeper we went, the more the walls shifted from packed dirt to natural stone. The tunnel widened, and dwarves of more varied professions appeared. Some were smiths, others merchants, a few wearing robes stitched with subtle embroidery.

  Curiosity got the better of me. “Elder, how long has your clan lived here? This place is close to our town.”

  He did not turn around. “Dwarves live as long as elves, boy. We were here before humans braved the North, and we will remain long after.”

  My father answered for me. “My son is unfamiliar with political matters between our races. Forgive him.”

  The Elder waved a dismissive hand. “I would not bear the title of Elder if I grew upset at a child's curiosity. Especially one as peculiar as your boy.”

  Father stiffened slightly at the repeated attention placed on me, though he said nothing. The tunnel finally opened into a vast chamber.

  The Main Hall.

  A waterfall cascaded from an opening high above, crashing into a clear blue pool that shimmered across the chamber. Around it dwarven families gathered. Children splashed water and played. Merchants tended stalls carved directly into the stone walls. Houses, smithies, and workshops lined the outer rim.

  The sound near the water was overwhelming. A constant roar of falling water. Moving away from it, the air filled with the smell of cooking food, the metallic bite of forges, and the rhythmic hammering of smiths at work.

  The Elder led us along the semicircular walkway of shops that curved around the pool. A short stairway rose to a deep stone chamber guarded by six armored dwarves.

  He stopped. “The clan head is inside. The guards will let you through.”

  I turned to thank him, but the Elder was gone. He had vanished without a sound or trace. No shift of mana brushed the air. One moment he stood there. The next he did not.

  I had never expected dwarves to be the mysterious sort. Perhaps that Elder was simply an exception.

  The guards escorted us into a long stone corridor. Runes and mana crystals embedded in the walls pulsed with faint energy. At the end stood another massive stone door. A guard stepped up and retrieved an old key from a necklace around his neck.

  “The clan head will see ye now.”

  He unlocked it and the door opened smoothly without being pushed.

  The chamber beyond resembled a strategy room. A long rectangular table dominated the center, covered in maps and diagrams of tunnels winding deep into the mountain. Behind it stood a dwarf larger than any I believed existed. His armor gleamed despite the sooty environment. A war hammer strapped across his back radiated silent authority.

  Father stepped forward. “Greetings, Clan Head. I am Baron Lars Loren, lord of the nearby town and its two villages. Behind me are my retainer, Sir Darvish, and my son Lance.”

  The dwarf studied us, assessing every detail. No guards accompanied him, a sign of confidence or power.

  “I am Garth,” he said. “Clan Head of the Northern Mountain Dwarves. I hear you sought us out.”

  Father nodded. “I did. I know an old trick to locate hidden tunnels. I hope to request passage using your routes as far as they will take us.”

  He summoned the medallion again. “A request from one Keeper of the North to another.”

  Garth examined the medallion and met Father's eyes. “You are the humans who deal with the Mountain Dwarves of the East, are you not? They speak well of you. I will allow passage.”

  Father lowered his hand. “Thank you. Time is pressing for us. If possible, we would leave now.”

  Garth nodded and led us back toward the Main Hall. When we reached the crystalline pool again, he gestured toward the waterfall.

  “Walk into the water and through the falls. Behind it you will find the passage you seek.”

  With that, the Clan Head turned and left without another word.

  Darvish stared at the waterfall and sighed. “I did not pack another set of clothes.”