B4 Chapter 20: Tunnel Security Agency
B4 Chapter 20: Tunnel Security Agency
The sounds of clattering armor and footsteps against smooth stone echoed through the narrow entrance hall as they entered. Massive pillars carved from the very mountain itself held aloft a grand ceiling that stretched far beyond Marcus’s reach. Plentiful clusters of mushrooms and mosses glowed with unnatural brightness across every surface, casting the entire space in a dim blue-green light.
“I’m Tora, by the way,” the lead dwarf introduced himself once they were inside. “Tora Steelfist. Vice captain of the Eastern Watch. These are my men.”
Marcus smiled affably and bowed. “A pleasure to meet you, Master Steelfist. I would introduce myself again, but I fear you have no patience for such redundancy.”
That drew a round of chuckles from the group. Already he could feel their vigilance relaxing as Marcus plied his trade. A good sign, especially considering the position they’d started from only a few minutes before.
“Fair enough,” Tora snorted. “If you keep things straightforward, then we’ll have no problems. Come. I’m to take you to the Consul.”
Consul? The title wiggled free a memory in Marcus’s mind. He recognized it, vaguely, and it took him a moment to realize why. It was a term that had appeared in that old musty book, the one he’d used to summon the Legion.
As things calmed down around the empire, Marcus had found himself with a bit more time to peruse its contents. Not that it was his favorite pastime by any means. The thing was as dry and crusty as its exterior suggested. However, it had provided a good deal of details and themes to work into his epic, meaning there was quite a bit of value in it still.
He recalled that it was a position of high authority, which made sense given the context. Though an antiquated one. One that predated the role of emperor. It could be a coincidence, but given what he’d learned so far, that possibility was practically negligible.
There was a connection here. Clearly. But he needed more information.
Without another word, Tora began to walk deeper into the hall. Marcus followed, the rest of the armed dwarves dutifully falling into step around them.
As they moved, he took the opportunity to better examine his escorts. Specifically, their leader. The longer he looked, the more he grew impressed by Tora’s armor. The individual facets of the rubies were cut far more intricately than he’d initially noticed, such that even the slightest movement made them dance with inner fire. The gold inlays had a slightly coppery tint to them that worked well with the gems, too. But despite the obvious care that had gone into the appearance of its craftsmanship, Marcus suspected that it wasn’t entirely a showpiece. While he could find no obvious signs of wear or damage, the way Tora walked reminded him of a warrior, not a figurehead.
The same was true of the hall itself. Marcus honestly found it a bit lacking in the aesthetic department, far more modest than expected. Yet he couldn’t help but notice the more practical elements of its construction. Like the arrow holes speckling the walls like vipers’ nests. Or the occasionally hollow-sounding sections of stone beneath their feet. Or the holes dotting the ceiling whose deepest recesses hid glittering metal, like stars in the night sky.
He gave silent thanks that the Legionnaires had not tried to push their luck and invade after all. They were plenty capable, sure, but these defenses weren’t playing around. The cohort may have been able to make it through, but between the sheer number of traps and the presences Marcus sensed behind every wall, it was by no means a certain thing. Either way, they would have been certain to take losses. And that would have complicated matters quite significantly.
At the far end of the hall, they came upon another set of double doors, far smaller than the last but no less fortified. Tora rapped a peculiar pattern on the thick stone and stepped back as it slowly began to open. Another group of armored dwarves greeted them, their demeanors more tense than their fellows given that they hadn’t enjoyed the same exposure to Marcus’s relaxing presence. But even they didn’t appear overtly hostile. Not yet.
“Alright.” Tora turned toward him. “Doesn’t seem like you got any weapons. But if you do, put ‘em in here.” The dwarf gestured to a small stone box held by another one of his men.
“Protocol, you see. You’ll get em’ back when you leave. You have my word.”
Marcus nodded. “Completely understandable. Fortunately, as I said before, I remain unarmed.”
He lifted his arms to demonstrate, and one of the dwarves stepped forward to frisk him. He felt around Marcus’s sleeves, mercifully not noticing the spell pages stored there, and scanning him from head to toe. The short man even pulled open his coin pouch, shifting through it to be certain. Marcus kept a close eye on his movements, but it didn’t seem as though he’d palmed any coins.
“Ah, please be careful,” Marcus interrupted as the man reached for his lute. He really did not like people touching his instrument.
The dwarf snorted, picking up the lute and looking inside of it. Marcus itched to reach forward and snatch it from the man as he gripped the neck and strings in one blocky hand. Thankfully, he didn’t look over it for long.
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“No weapons,” the dwarf grunted. “Though you can leave that thing here. Doubt you’ll find much use for it.”
Marcus cocked his head, but kept a friendly expression. “I think I’ll take my chances, if you don’t mind.”
Letting them touch the instrument was one thing. But leaving it behind? Absolutely not. If that was a condition for entry, then he might seriously have to rethink this whole situation.
He prepared to continue on, but a second dwarf stepped forward and produced a small orb of cloudy stone. The soldier pressed on a protrusion along its surface, and the entire thing lit up with red light. The light brightened momentarily before rushing toward Marcus and coalescing at his hip.
“Ah. Knew you’d have something. Let’s see it.”
Confused, Marcus pulled the item out. It was a small protective charm the princesses had given him. He’d nearly forgotten about it.
“Can’t have unauthorized magic, either.” Tora jerked his chin to the box.
Marcus dutifully complied. It looked a bit silly, that singular charm inside of the too-large container. Likely it was meant to hold entire sets of armor, shields, and the entire arsenal of a kitted-out warrior. But he had none of those things.
When he was done, the guard closed the lid and placed a tablet of some sort on the top. He offered Marcus a stylus to write his name across the top section of the tablet. When he was finished, the seal flashed and secured the box.
“No one else will be able to open it. You’ll have to sign again when you leave, though.”
Finally, they continued onward. As they passed through the second set of doors. The space opened up. A wide hall greeted them, this one far more in line with his expectations. Lamps filled with some sort of glowing insects studded the smooth quartz pillars veined through with flecks of gold. The floor beneath them transformed from smooth stone to tiled geometric patterns. The walls themselves were covered in complex murals depicting all manner of myth and history. Grand battles, assaults from dragons, dwarves tending to fields underneath an open sky.
As they walked further in, the murals transitioned from open sky to more mountainous settings. From what he could tell, the constant assaults of the dragons had sent the dwarves deep underground at some point, and they’d simply never emerged again. Yet there was another theme there as well. A motif that seemed all too prevalent during the dwarves’ early history. A broad-winged eagle, large enough to span the sky itself, with wings that shielded the dwarves from harm.
In so many murals, it protected them, fighting alongside them against every foe. Yet before they went into the mountains… it vanished. No, not vanished. Fled.
The imagery was not particularly subtle. But it reinforced the theory that was beginning to take shape in Marcus’s mind.
As they walked further in, Marcus peered down the side passages and saw something else that had been missing—people. Other dwarves moving in the distance, smudged with coal dust or carrying plates or otherwise bustling about common everyday tasks. Many stopped to gawk as their group passed, while others shouted in greeting to the soldiers. Evidently, the prospect of imminent attack had sent them retreating a bit deeper into the mountain.
They soon reached a small waiting room. Tora left him there with a few guards, saying that he needed to speak with the consul, and Marcus was happy to let him go. It would give him an opportunity to ply his trade and learn a bit more about these people.
“Well!” Marcus grinned, drawing his lute from his back. “Seems we have a spare moment. Perhaps I could make the time pass swifter with a song?”
He strummed a chord. But their reaction wasn’t at all what he expected. The dwarves’ faces twisted with distaste, brows furrowing at the sound. One even reached up to plug his ears before stopping himself.
“Aye, you could. But not with that thing.” A flat-nosed dwarf grunted.
Marcus stopped. “Whatever do you mean? Are your people not fond of the lute?”
“Is that what you call that thing?” A particularly dour fellow asked. “I’ve only heard it called shit.”
The joke got a laugh out of the others. The flat-nosed dwarf explained when Marcus expressed his confusion. “We dwarves hold no love for high-falutin words and prissy, weak things. The only song we need is the ring of hammer on metal, the rhythm of pick on stone, and the sound of a steady mine chant.”
That was… stupid. Well, obviously, Marcus had too much tact to say it. But the incredible artistry of the entry hall had suggested that these folk had an appreciation for the beautiful, one that he could get behind. It seemed that he’d been wrong.
“I understand,” he lied, placing the lute back in his usual spot. “Well. I suppose I’ll have to just make do with my voice and my wit.”
And so he did. He told stories, made jokes, and soon had the guards eating out of his hand. Despite their apparent dislike for most instruments—except for brass horns, for some reason—the dwarves enjoyed his other offerings just as much as anyone else. Provided he stuck to more common tavern tales, at least.
Throughout it all, he plied the men for more information. They were more than happy to expand upon their history. Apparently, the current dynasty of dwarves had lasted for ten thousand years, one hundred and thirty-eight generations of consuls governing their lands.
More and more, the details of their culture sounded familiar. The concept of citizenship, the importance of military service, and the way their government operated felt all too similar. It also evoked quite a few parallels to elven society, which made sense. But when he raised the similarity, the dwarves spat on the ground.
“We’re nothing like those damn tree-fuckers,” the flat-nosed dwarf, Brom, declared. “Those weaklings sided with The Betrayers, hiding like the cowards they are while we were driven to near extinction. Don’t compare us.”
“The Betrayers?” He grasped at the thread eagerly.
“Those who came before our consuls. The empire that spanned the whole world, encompassing all… And were too weak to keep it. In their weakness, they abandoned us.”
He wanted to ask more, but the door opened to admit Tora once more. The gold and ruby-clad dwarf nodded to Marcus.
“The consul will see you now."
Marcus bid goodbye to the guards and stood with a deep breath. He was as armed as he could be. Now, it was time to put that knowledge to use.