by Troy Osgood
He turned to Culann, shaking his head and holding his sledge out so all could see the rune.
“I’m an idiot,” he said. “I saw the symbols on your weapons but just never connected it to the room we found.”
“What are ye talking about,” Culann asked walking forward, stepping out from under the roof and surprised to see it was almost midday already.
“We started that new mine shaft about a year ago,” Sheren explained pointed towards the third mine. “We needed to increase the town’s output,” he added with a glance towards Hesh who was hovering around on the edges of the crowd. “We weren’t producing enough. So we dug a new shaft. About three days ago we broke through a wall and into a room.”
“What kind o’ room” Culann asked starting to get a bad feeling. He looked towards the mine and the large mountain behind it. Could it be? It could explain so much.
Sheren shrugged.
“Four walls,” he said. “No visible door. The walls, floor and ceiling were all polished smooth. And there were carvings along the walls. Symbols like this but so many different ones,” he finished pointing at the rune.
The big miner sighed.
“I’m such a fool. I should have thought of it earlier,” he added.
“Ye had important things on yer mind and were a little busy,” Culann said walking forward and clasping the man on the shoulder. “Nae one else thought o’ it either,” he added.
Sheren nodded but Culann knew the man was going to keep blaming himself. Not that it would have made a difference, if he had thought of it before. They would have still been in the same position they were now, but at least Culann finally had a place to look for answers.
“Show me,” he said.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Culann watched as the villagers pulled off the large planks they had attached to the wooden frame around the mine entrance. The midday sun was not yet fully above the mountain peaks so the entrance was still in heavy shadow. The villagers had done a good job at barricading the entrance, placing thick and heavy timbers across the opening, nailing them into place and then bracing them into the ground. It would have done a good job of preventing more skeletons from getting out.
If any had tried.
It appeared the tunnel was empty.
As the planks were removed they had thrown stones into the tunnel and nothing had moved.
The last of the planks were pulled off, thrown to the ground with a loud thump that made Culann wince. He glanced towards the other two tunnels, both just as secured, and saw nothing trying to claw its way out.
He looked back towards Private Jemas.
“Ye ready lad?,” he asked.
The young man just nodded, taking a tighter grip on the mace. Jemas had volunteered to go with him, into the mine and the unknown. The lad was scared, rightfully so, but it said a lot for him that he had stepped up.
Culann pulled the light wand out of the satchel, activating it with the command word. The globe grew brighter, the white light penetrating into the shadowed depths of the tunnel. Holding the wand in his left, he drew a hand axe in his right. He stepped into the tunnel, followed closely by Jemas holding the mace and buckler.
Two villagers, who had also volunteered, walked in behind them carrying a bundle of torches. Culann held up his hand, slowing them. The two men stopped, one lit a torch with tinder and flint, which they used to light another. They placed the now burning torches into brackets already mounted to the rough stone of the tunnel walls. They walked to the next set of brackets, ten feet down, repeating the process.
Culann walked deeper in, shining the light over every surface. Floor, walls and ceiling. He could see marks on the stone, some running vertically up and down and fewer side to side. The up and down had a rough appearance and had to have been made by pickaxes. The others, the horizontal side to side were spaced like the fingers of a hand. Cuts gouged into the surface. Holding the light close, he could see the jaggedness of the marks.
Shaking his head, he moved deeper in.
“Dagda,” he heard Jemas curse as the young soldier noticed the marks. “Did the skeletons do that?”
“Aye,” Culann replied moving on.
He paused at a large indentation in the sidewall. It was about a foot deep, a couple feet wide and almost a full person in height. He looked towards the two villagers.
“Side tunnel?,” he asked.
“Yeah, started the other day,” one of the villagers answered. “The room is another twenty feet down.”
Culann continued on, watching the walls. The tunnel gradually sloped downward, the floor still rough in parts but smoothed out for the miners to walk. It wasn’t a wide tunnel, not yet, and the ceiling was a foot or two over his head. As he walked the tunnel narrowed, the village miners had not had a chance to fully develop this extension yet. He also noticed more of the skeleton claw marks on the sidewalls.
The tunnel narrowed to just barely wide enough for two, the sidewalls and lower ceiling all very rough. This was a new tunnel, just opened and not refined, abandoned for the moment. He glanced back at Private Jemas and saw sweat on the young man’s forehead. Jemas stood at the point where the tunnel narrowed considerably, glancing around nervously.
“It’s okay lad,” Culann said. “Ye kin wait there.”
“No,” Jemas said taking a step forward.
Good lad, Culann thought, he’ll make a fine soldier someday.
The rough tunnel was short, only about ten feet long. Looking ahead he saw a deeper, darker, patch of shadow with a very jagged outline. He paused, studying it before he realized what he was looking at. Walking the last couple feet he stepped through an opening and into a room.
He had to step through and twist his body, ducking, as the opening was barely wide and tall enough for a person to walk through and a foot or two off the ground. The miners had stopped when they realized they had broken through into the room, only making a hole big enough to explore the space beyond.
The light of the wand barely illuminated the space but he could see smoothly carved and polished stone walls, floor and ceiling. It looked to be about fifteen feet square, with no doors or openings that were visible. Culann could see odd shapes and designs on the walls.
“Torches,” he called out to Jemas and the miners beyond. “More light.”
He walked to the far wall, the wand’s white light giving it an eerie quality. The wall was the same stone as the mountain itself, but carved and shaped so there were no joints or rough edges. It was a solid slab of mountain. The chamber was about ten feet high with a band of carvings along the top and bottom edge.
Culann turned around, towards the hole and saw that that wall was not as smooth as the other three. The two ends of the wall were, as well as the arch he could now see, but inside of the arch was rough stone. As if the arch itself had been filled in. The miners had broken through almost dead center of the arch, under the keystone.
Studying the width of the arch, he realized it was wider than the shaft the Minodan villagers had been digging. Wide enough for a small wagon to pass through. If the miner’s had continued to the sides, widening the shaft, would they have hit more smooth walls? Was this a tunnel entrance? If it was, it came from outside, but led to where? There were no more doors off the room.
He spun around, studying all four walls, looking for anything that would indicate a door, opening or anything that would lead from the room.
Nothing.
“Master Hawkfall,” Private Jemas said stepping into the room, bearing a lit torch in one hand and a pile of others under the other, mace now hanging from his belt. “Where would you like these?”
“The corners, and along the wall,” Culann answered moving over to the arch. He extinguished the wand, putting it back in the satchel, wishing he had a lantern so he could focus the light more on the details. The wand was good for general light but it was diffuse and spread out.
The room became brighter as the flickering flames of the torches were
lit by Jemas, setting them up around the room. The shadows disappeared and more of the space appeared. But it was torch light, flickering, providing light but not the greatest for examining the details. And there were details everywhere, on every surface. Carvings, and markings that looked like runework. There were words, or what looked like words, and pictures.
None of it was faded. The carvings appeared as fresh as if they were cut that day.
The workmanship was amazing.
“What is this place?,” Jemas asked walking around the room.
Culann continued to study the arch. It was carved out of the wall a couple of inches, about a foot wide and running up towards the ceiling where the keystone was. Looking at the design and the room itself, Culann didn’t think the arch was meant to hold up the ceiling above. It appeared to be ornamental, meant to highlight the tunnel that must have once been there.
The craftsmanship and the runework appeared familiar. He thought he recognized a couple of the symbols, barely able to make out some of the words.
Taking a step back, Culann looked at the symbols moving up and around the arch. Up one side, down the other. A line of text. He could only make out one out of every five words or so, but it was enough. He didn’t know the meaning, but he could guess.
He also knew who had made this.
“It’s Dvorkan,” he said.
“What are the Dvorkan?,” someone asked.
Culann sat on the low stone wall around the Smithy’s forge; tired and rubbing at his eyes, which hurt. He had spent what seemed like hours in the room at the end of the tunnel, studying the symbols by torchlight trying to decipher the meaning. He had not learned anything more, knowing as much as he had started with. It was frustrating, tiring. The miner’s had put the planks back in place, not as solidly as before but still an effective barrier. They had left the brace’s down, thinking they would need to access the shaft again.
It was close to dinner now, the sun setting a brilliant red. The sunset was beautiful, causing the tops of the trees and clouds to shine, but Culann was too tired to notice.
“The Dvorke are more commonly known as Dwarves,” he said in answer, unsure who from the crowd around him had spoken.
He had not wanted to talk to the crowd, preferring to speak only to Sheren and the other councilors, but he had been bombarded with questions as soon as he had stepped out of the mine. He had ordered the villagers to put the barricade back up and after that short time a large crowd had surrounded him. He had pushed his way to the Smithy, having to sit down and rest.
Davey Tobiason stood in front of him with the mug of water he had asked for. He downed the mug in a couple gulps, giving a satisfied sigh as he handed it back to the boy.
“Thank ye Davey,” he said before turning to the crowd. “Dwarves are mountainfolk and by that I mean they live inside the mountains, carving their homes out o’ the stone. The homes, they call them Cradles, are rooms and tunnels carved inta and from the mountains. They are miners as well as crafters. Strong fighters too, solid as the stone they live in.”
“That’s what you found,” another villager asked. “There’s a Dwarf city in the mountain?”
“I donae know,” Culann answered with a shrug. “Right now it’s just a room wit’ nae any doors.”
“So you’re no closer to solving this,” a voice said, a newcomer, one that he recognized as Hesh.
Culann saw the man standing near the edge of the crowd. There was a sneer on his face, which Culann was now thinking was permanent. He just shook his head. He had met people like Hesh before. People that were in power but knew the foundation they stood on was uncertain, quick to attack anyone that threatened that footing even if the threat was in the person’s own mind and not reality.
“Aye, I am nae closer,” Culann admitted. “There are nae doors out o’ the space, nae that I kin see.” He shrugged, fighting back a yawn. “That does nae mean there is nae any. The Dvorkan are stoneworkers wit’out peer as well as master runesmiths. There could be a door there that we kinnae see or open.”
He pushed himself up from the low wall. Stretching he walked back into the forge area and the pile of hammers, sledges and pick axes the tinker had left on the work bench. All the tools in the pile had the rune etched into them. They were all rough and it was on him to finish them up and enchant them with the magic.
“Kin someone bring up some dinner?,” he asked looking back at Davey. “Ye all excuse me. I have more work ta do before nightfall.”
Culann picked up the hammer and chisel off the workbench where he had left them. Sighing, yawning, he picked up a small hammer and started finishing up the rune, humming as he did so.
The rune on the hammer flared, taking the magic in.
He looked at it, studying it. It was good work. Not the best runesmithing he had ever seen, but not the worst either. This one was simple enough, he knew, not like others he had seen. He glanced up, looking at the mine entrance and guessing where the Dvorkan room would be. He stared at that spot, picturing the room through the dozens of feet of solid stone and the walls of the Smithy. His work was nothing like what a Dvorkan could do and there was a lot of runework in that room.
Was there a door hidden in the room?
Most likely, but the question was how to find it.
A question for later, he thought, returning to his work.
Davey Tobiason, along with his father, walked out onto the plateau in front of the mines carrying a plate of food and a couple mugs of ale. The sun had set but the entire space was well lit by torchlight. The smelting building was empty, but torches had been placed in the brackets on the building’s exterior wall. The forge in the Smithy was still lit, giving off light. Other torches had been placed on poles and set around the space, concentrating on the mines, where the shadows of men could be seen on watch.
A small campfire had been lit on the ground in front of the rock cluster in the middle of the area. Davey suppressed a shudder as they walked towards the rocks, remembering how he had hid behind them when the skeletons had come out of the mine. He had never been so scared in his life and it shamed him. He hadn’t told his mother, and especially not his father, about how he felt yet. He doubted he would. He had been scared like a little kid. He was almost a man now; he should not have felt that way.
When the skeletons had come out, he had been frozen with fear. He would have died if not for Culann Hawkfall. Davey was ashamed of his inaction. He badly wanted to make up for it, to do something that would lessen that feeling. To make his father proud, to be worthy of sharing the name.
The Far Rider now sat on the ground, leaning against the rocks, in front of the campfire. He was poking at it with a stick, pushing the logs around.
“We thought you would be in the smithy,” Sheren said as they approached.
“Had ta take a break,” Culann replied. He set down the stick as Davey handed him the plate of food.
Sheren sat down next to the Far Rider, setting one of the mugs down. Culann nodded his thanks as he dug into the plate of food.
“This is good,” he said between mouthfuls. “Thank ye.”
Silence fell as Culann ate the dinner. Sheren turned and watched the villagers that were guarding the mines. Davey just looked around seeing how the glow of the fires added strange shadows and shapes to a space that he knew so well.
“I hope ye donae mind I started this,” he said setting the plate aside and pointing at the small fire. “I took a couple logs from the forge. I do me best thinking by campfire and under the stars,” he added looking up at the night sky. He reached for the mug, taking a drink as the three watched the stars appearing.
“Not at all,” Sheren replied. He shifted his position, looking back at the mountain looming over them. “Hard to believe that there could be an entire city in there.”
“Dvorkan Cradle are unlike a city as we know it,” Culann said looking at the mountain as well.
Davey turned and studied the peak that he had lived beneath his en
tire life. It was a mountain, like the rest in the range that Minoda was built on. Hundreds of similar peaks as far as the eye could see to the North. Most villagers never went deep into the range. There were stories of Orcs and other monsters living deeper in the peaks and mountain valleys. He had a hard time imagining people living inside the mountains.
“They are nae open like Minoda or other cities,” Culann said and Davey returned his attention to the man, fascinated to learn more. “Cradles, fer the most part, are rooms carved out o’ the mountain and connected by tunnels. There are stairs and ramps that connect the different levels which start at the top o’ the mountain and kin extend deep below what would be ground level. There could be tunnels beneath our feet,” he said tapping the ground.
Davey laid his hand against the ground. He thought of what it would be like walking through the stone and never seeing the sun or stars. He wondered how far below the plateau these tunnels could be. Would the vibrations of someone walking be felt on the surface? Could someone in the tunnels know when someone walked over them?
“You said for the most part?,” Sheren prompted.
“Aye,” Culann said in reply. “Most Cradles are entirely wit’in the mountain but there are some that have had part built outside the mountain. Tul Noval in the kingdom o’ Ameir is one,” he said pointing towards the northeast. “The castle grows out o’ the mountain. The walls, floors, battlements, they all are seamless wit’ the stone. It is like the Dvorkan carved the castle from the mountain, nae built on top o’ it. It connects ta a very small Cradle that has been abandoned. It now serves as the King’s Keep.”
“Why would the dwarves abandon their homes?,” Sheren asked.
“That I do nae know. There could be any number o’ reasons. Most are bad,” he said. “But nae all,” he added seeing the worried look on Sheren’s face as he looked back towards the mountain.
“How do you know this is Dvorkan?,” Davey asked having a hard time with the unfamiliar word.
“The runes lad,” Culann replied. “I recognized the work.”