by Aldrea Alien
Tracker sighed. “If you can convince our dear warrior to linger for that long…”
“Yes!” Again, she jumped on the spot. “Of course she will.”
Dawn had barely made its mark on the world by the time they entered the cave. Not that it mattered when they’d be spending a large chunk of the day underground.
The discussion between Authril and the hedgewitch was long and loud with the warrior repeatedly insisting that Riverton stood only a day or two away and they should move on. In the end, she conceded through sheer opposition. Katarina refused to leave without documenting their find, Tracker was unwilling to depart without the hedgewitch and Dylan was loath to leave without either’s presence.
Much like the first time Katarina had inspected the runes at the entrance to the old lava tube, Tracker insisted on joining them. He’d been chatty enough on their way to the pool, but had grown rather quiet by the time they reached the cavern. He lingered near the tunnel entrance, eyeing the darkness as if he expected the walls to sprout teeth.
Dylan sidled up to the man whilst they waited for Katarina to join them. “Are you all right being here?”
“Hmm?” Tracker jerked his head around. “Oh, I am fine, thank you. It is just—” He frowned. “You are truly into this whole…” The hound waved his hand about, his long fingers splayed, as he seemed to search for the words. “…dwarven history thing, yes?”
“Is that condemnation I hear?”
His russet brows shot up. “Not at all. I merely meant to express an observation of how… passionate you become in the presence of such an artefact as this forge. It is fascinating to watch you get so excited over some scratchings on a rock.”
“I take it you’re not the least bit interested in the past.” He must’ve bored the man half to death last night, where his restlessness had kept the hound awake as Dylan nattered about their find. At least, until Tracker had seemingly had enough and wound himself around Dylan before falling back to sleep.
The hound sneered. “As everyone is so very fond of reminding us, we elves do not hold the same historic ties to the land as humans and dwarves.”
No, he’d witnessed ample evidence of what people thought of their pointed-eared brethren since leaving the tower. More than he’d ever wanted. Like the sergeant who’d been made his warden back in the army, most seemed to prefer the elves returned to wherever their ancestors came from.
But humans were also not native to these lands. At least, according to dwarven lore. Sjöfolk the dwarven tongue named them. Sea people. Just like the elves. But where the first elven people had come looking for sanctuary, the humans had come to conquer. “That doesn’t answer my question though.”
“Hounds are not meant to dwell on what came before. Looking behind serves us little purpose outside of battle.”
“Track.”
The man rolled those gorgeous eyes. “Will it satisfy you if I admit to a passing curiosity from time to time? There are all these rumours of what the dwarves of old were capable of. Sometimes, I wonder how much is truth. The Udynea Empire was once at war with them, yes?”
“That was a very long time ago.” Back when the empire was young and ravenous, and the dwarven tribes were scattered across the continent and Dvärghem wasn’t a thought in anyone’s mind. “If you like, I could teach you a few things along the way.”
Tracker gave a considering hum. “Another time, perhaps. You and our dear hedgewitch are here for a reason. Tutoring me would doubtlessly slow you down and I… would prefer not to linger more than is necessary.”
“You could go back to camp, you know. Or wait on the shore and catch a few fish? We will be hours cataloguing everything and…” His jaw snapped shut before the mention of the hound’s select dislike of tunnels slipped out. “It’ll be rather boring,” he finished.
“I do not mind a little monotonous lingering, as long as there is something… interesting to keep me distracted.” The man slid closer. “Have I told you how positively ravishing you look?”
“Not lately.” Or at all.
Tracker’s warm, slick skin pressed against Dylan’s chest. “How remiss of me,” he murmured, the heat of his words hot on Dylan’s neck. His hands wove behind Dylan’s back, pulling them together.
Dylan swallowed. He could feel himself pressing into the man’s stomach with every breath. They’d done little but talk last night. Well, he had done most of the talking. “Has anyone told you how much of a touchy person you are?”
“Only when I am near something I want to touch.” With his head tipped back, Tracker rested his chin on Dylan’s chest. “Would you prefer I stopped?”
“Well, I most certainly would,” Katarina snapped, prodding the hound’s shoulder with the butt of the unlit torch she’d crafted last night until he backed away. “You want him at Wintervale as soon as he’s able? Then he needs his mind on the task at hand.”
Tracker thrust out his jaw. “You truly know how to sap all the fun out of this little delay, my dear woman.”
The hedgewitch folded her arms and glared down at the man. “Don’t go distracting my assistant, Master Tracker, or I’ll be forced to have you replaced.” She tapped thoughtfully on her lips with a forefinger. “Perhaps Authril would be less inclined to distract him. Unless you’d mind?”
The hound’s nose wrinkled briefly at the mention of the warrior who’d opted to go hunting with Marin. He gave the hedgewitch a wide grin. “And just why would I mind that?”
Katarina’s brow twitched, causing the scar on her face to dance.
Tracker grunted, then flashed the woman another smile. “But you parade him around like some delectable treat and I cannot have even the slightest nibble? What did I do to be subjected to such cruelness, my dear?”
A small chuckle curved her lips. “All I ask is for you to curb…” She indicated them with a twirl of her finger. “…whatever this is until later.”
The hound’s gaze slid his way. Those honey-coloured eyes swept over him, visibly drinking him in, and Dylan felt his face growing steadily warmer. “Alas,” Tracker breathed. “Later it must be.” His focus swung back to Katarina. “Lead on, my dear hedgewitch.”
The tunnel didn’t seem as long as yesterday’s venture, likely due to the combination of their less cautious steps and knowing the depth. Nevertheless, Dylan still shivered as the heat hit his face. He loosened his grip on the hound’s hand. Fear or no, there was no chance he could do any sort of work whilst the man clung so tightly.
The hound’s fingers briefly tightened their hold before he let go. “What would you have me do, dear woman?”
“Sit there.” She pointed to the left side of the channel where several hulking masses of solid metal squatted between the molten rock and the wall. “And stay quiet.”
Tracker gave the woman a low bow and, with a reluctant glance Dylan’s way, silently departed from their side.
Katarina fished out her tools from the pouch she’d carefully managed to wrangle into the cave without getting wet. “Be sure to note down everything as you see it,” she said, handing Dylan a handful of parchment leaves she’d torn from her book. A thin, black stick wrapped in rope was also pushed into his hands.
Dylan examined the stick. It looked rather like the implements guardians gave the children who were first learning to write. From what he remembered of back then, it made for less mess than an overturned inkpot—and thus, less work for the laundry—but a lot of work scrubbing in the tub. Fortunate that they were forced to travel through the pool when they were done.
The hedgewitch strode over to the line of molten rock and lit the torch in the heat of the forge. Even though the scrap of cloth wrapped around the end had gotten damp on the journey here, it ignited easily enough. “I want no attempts at dissertations or theories. Try to copy the runes as they are, if you’re capable. Trace over them if you can’t. But I want a completely untouched view of this place.”
From his perch on one of the metal chunks, Tracker laughed. �
��I do not fancy your chances of getting an unadulterated view on anything from him. There is quite the wicked mind hidden that angelic body.”
Dylan steadfastly refused to acknowledge the heat blazing across his face.
“Get off that!” Katarina snapped at the man. “Those anvils have been here longer than your ancestors. And I believe I told you not to say a word. Anymore attempts to distract either of us and you’re out.”
Tracker hopped off the anvil and flashed a salute. “As you command, my dear hedgewitch. I will remain silent from now on.”
Smiling, Dylan positioned his little ball of light over his shoulder as he moved on to the first rune-etched wall. There, he began sketching out the first line. The markings were curiously laid out. Some were fainter, like afterthoughts or suggestions. It would make quite the muddle to translate. Fortunately, that would be someone else’s task once Katarina returned to Dvärghem.
“Ah, my dear woman,” Tracker said. “I do not mean to disturb you, but there appears to be the remains of a dead man in the corner.”
“Where,” Katarina demanded, hurrying to the man’s side. She gasped and clutched tighter to her torch.
Dylan tilted his body back, trying to line himself up with their gaze. From where he stood by the entrance, the anvils blocked the way. Rounding them gave him an unobscured view of the thick stone bench that ran the length of the back wall. Under it, hidden in the shadows, sat a pile of bones. The hollow sockets of a skull glared back.
“Remains,” the hedgewitch breathed. “We hardly ever find remains. And never this well preserved.” Katarina knelt by the skeleton, her torch throwing flickering shadows over the bones. “Who were you?” she whispered.
Tracker joined the woman on the floor. “Whoever they might have been, they were also slain. Or at least gravely injured.”
The hedgewitch nodded. Already, she was back to scribbling furiously in her book, glancing up from the page to the skeleton and back.
“You can tell that from a pile of bones?” Dylan asked.
The hound grinned. “True, the state is a little more advanced than how I usually find victims, but the clues are more or less the same. The way the spine is twisted, for instance. The hips are facing completely the wrong way to the ribs. And, of course, there is the fact of where they are. No one crawls beneath a bench to carve the walls for fun.”
“You don’t expect me to believe you deduced that from bones and fragments of cloth.”
“Well, there is also the fact they have a chisel in their hand.” The hound nodded at the skeleton’s right side. The dried and cracked wooden handle of a chisel lay in the tattered remains of a leather glove.
“And the clothing suggests fourth century,” Katarina added. “Or maybe late third. There was a lot of infighting during that period. So many tribes with so little space.”
Because of the Udynea Empire. And most of the tribes had been left leaderless with the capture of their hedgewitches. Dylan turned his attention to the nearby wall. If he was going to die, what would he carve?
There was a set of runes that had the look of being scratched into the stone with some urgency. Numbers had been carved beneath each word. A formula? But for what?
Dylan knelt and traced the markings with a forefinger. Svavel… That one was easy. Brimstone. The next rune had a few cracks running through it, but he could make out kol at the end. A few possibilities there. The last one though…
“Salpeter?” he whispered under his breath, letting the word roll across his tongue. He’d never heard of it before. Had the dwarves also been experimenting in here?
He frowned at the name. Sulin would know. A pang of grief hit him at the thought. But the alchemists were taught to handle more than just the infitialis metal. They studied various recipes the hedgewitches brought them, especially if the outcome was unknown and therefore possibly dangerous.
He searched the rest of the wall, looking for signs of similar hastily-carved markings. Nothing near the dwarven remains suggested anything to do with this formula. “Does this have any meaning to you?” he asked Katarina, tapping the runes.
The hedgewitch squinted at the rock, frowning, before shaking her head. “I wish I did.” She bowed her head. “Hopefully someone in the Coven will.”
“Whatever it means,” Tracker said. “They clearly thought it of some import.”
Nodding, Katarina got her feet. “We can’t afford to linger on this. There is a lot more to catalogue before the day’s done.”
They continued in silence, the hedgewitch returning to the far side of the cavern and he back to the entrance to resume his sketches of now seemingly clearer carvings.
The feeling of being watched crept up his spine. His gaze slid to where the skull continued to stare blankly at the world. Dylan shook his head. Foolishness. People didn’t come back from the dead and bones certainly held nothing more than the chemicals they were comprised of. Even if they did, they were here to observe and catalogue, not disturb.
But the watched feeling didn’t ebb.
He glanced over his shoulder, instinctively searching for Tracker and found the man had returned to sit before one of the anvils with his head propped on a hand and his eyes trained on Dylan.
“Are you still all right?” Dylan asked.
A small smile, mirthless and watery, brushed the hound’s lips. “I am fine.” He flapped his free hand at Dylan. “Go back to helping our dear hedgewitch before she scolds you.”
He turned back to the wall carvings. That watched sensation continued on, but it no longer carried a sinister air. The hound’s earlier words came to mind. Was he truly that fascinating to watch?
They paused only briefly to venture near the cave entrance. Tracker swam across the pool to fetch the little they’d brought for a midday meal, which they consumed in silence and haste before venturing back down the tunnel. Dylan’s stomach was starting to rumble, looking for what he’d hazard to guess would be dinner, by the time Katarina suggested they leave.
“You go on ahead,” Dylan said. There was one thing he wanted to do before they left this place in peace. Something he couldn’t put into words.
He settled against the wall near the tunnel, shuffling along the floor until he’d a decent view of the room. Humming softly to himself as the black nib of his writing stick glided over the parchment, creating the illusion of shadows and light where there’d one been nothing but blankness. In short strokes, he sketched the forge, the anvils, the bench and even the long-since-passed dwarf.
The faint puff of another’s breath warmed his shoulder. “I had no idea you could draw,” Tracker breathed, squatting next to him. “Why did you not tell me?”
He frowned and continued to sketch. “Why would you have needed to know?” It wasn’t magic, just the product of bored doodles refined by years of practice.
“Well, I suppose you have a point there. Still, I…” He fell silent.
Dylan lowered the page, turning around.
“No, no. Do not stop on my account.” The hound leapt to his feet, his hands upraised before him. “I will be waiting by the waterfall.”
“Are you all right to travel through the tunnel on your own?” Every time they’d gone from one end to the other, the man had kept a vice-like grip on Dylan’s hand.
“He’ll be fine,” Katarina said, holding her torch aloft. “I’ll be with him.” She threw an arm around the hound’s shoulders and hugged him tight. “You’ll be safe with me. Maybe you can tell me why you dislike tunnels so much whilst we wait for Dylan?”
“The reasons are rather personal,” Tracker said as they started walking down the tunnel. “I would prefer not to.”
“Fair enough.” The hedgewitches voice echoed the further they went and Dylan’s ears strained to make out her words. “There are other things I’d like to discuss regarding…”
Dylan sighed as the woman’s words became little more than garbled mutters. He turned his full attention to the sketch, touching up the details
until he could refine it no more with the tools at hand. Stashing it between two pieces of unused pages, he stood and gave the cavern one last look before trotting down the tunnel after the others.
Leaving the cave was far simpler than entering at been, especially on the fourth pass through the gap in the waterfall. Katarina went first, the hand holding the pouch stuffed with papers high above the surface of the water. Dylan was next, with Tracker close behind at first, then in front to help him reach the shore.
By the time Dylan’s feet touched dry land, Katarina was already clothed.
She rifled through his work as Tracker and himself dried and dressed. “Let me see.” The hedgewitch hummed and mumbled to herself, pausing only to admire his sketch of the cavern, before stowing everything back in the pouch. “This… It wasn’t too big of a disaster.”
Dylan glanced up from his task of drying the hound’s hair. “You thought it would be?”
She gave a small, uncertain chuckle. “A little. I’ve never worked with a non-Dvärg before. It’s rare we find those outside of my homeland with such a respect for our people, but you’ve been most helpful. I’d almost suggest coming with me and taking up an apprenticeship. There are plenty of hedgewitches who would be eager to expand your rudimentary knowledge, except…” Her gaze drifted to Tracker. “Well—”
“I know.” No matter how lax the hound was, letting Dylan go anywhere except towards Wintervale would be against his training.
Tracker paused in braiding his hair, his fingers still tangled in the coils. “My dear woman, are you suggesting he abandons his duty to the crown to go gallivanting across the land?”
“N-no, of course not!” She tugged at her belt ties, carefully avoiding the elf’s gaze. “Well, maybe? He has so much knowledge, too much to be a mere weapon. In Dvärghem, he’d be on his way through an apprenticeship already. Even now, if given the right master, he could become such an asset to our studies.”