Chapter 8. The Silent Halls
Captain Mahrlecht adjusted his troop disposition once again. On the plateau of the Dark Lands a threat could appear from any point of the compass, but even a fast moving raid could be detected and countered by the Ungol outriders before it threatened the traders.
In the maze of tunnels and galleries that made up the Mines of Zhufbar, a foe could be around the next corner, or hidden in a side tunnel. There was no use for the fleetness and range of the Ungols, which was just as well because they had formed a superstitious and uncharacteristically nervous huddle in the middle of the caravan as soon as they had passed underground.
Instead, the Tilean light infantry took up the scouting role and crept ahead of the van with their crossbows ready. Any side passages or shafts they discovered were treated as potential sources of danger and the Flanderian heavies formed a wall of steel at each one until the caravan had passed safely by. Their diligence was seemingly not required. The mines were empty.
The Captain kept the lizard band with his command group where he could keep them lizards on a much shorter rein after the subterfuge in the Dark Lands. The only time he let them out of his sight was if he needed to send one of them on a specific errand. As Rychek returned from the forward scouts the captain assessed that the sun would be setting over the world above.
"You, Joe. Go forward to our guide. Ask him to find us a chamber we can make secure. It is time to rest."
"Why must I go? Why not send Hymie?" the saurus warrior indicated one of the apprehensive Ungols who jumped at the sound of his own name.
"Hymie?"
"His father's name is Hymie," explained Joe.
"I know his father's name is Hymie, you idiot. I am not sending Hymie because I am sending you. Now go!"
Rychek hovered near the captain's elbow as Joe reluctantly complied.
"What is wrong with your riders, captain," he asked. "Their ponies are fine, but they do not ride."
Mahrlecht glanced back at his once proud elite cavalry, who were indeed limping on blistered feet and leading their mounts. The greasy yellow light of their tallow lanterns seemed to accentuate the care lines on each weather beaten Ungol face.
"They fear falling from their saddles and sustaining a fatal injury."
"Fall off? They boast than they cannot be removed from horseback alive. Why did they begin to fear as soon as we came underground?"
"The Ungols hold the open sky as their god. They believe that if they die where the sky cannot see them, their souls will wander and never find rest in the afterlife."
Rychek considered this. "What do you believe will happen to your soul after you die, captain?"
The captain shook his head impatiently. "I am not interested in metaphysics. What have you to report other than superstitious Ungols?"
"This tunnel extends for another mile then the path skirts a deep chasm. Our guide says that we are still three days from the gates of the dwarf hold."
"Ah, Inebric the Guide." Mahrlecht snorted. "The dwarf of many titles. Let no one say that he does not have uses. What does he have to say about the abandonment of this mine?"
In contrast to the generally muted spirits of the rest of the caravan, Inebric the Trader was positively cheerful. This undwarflike demeanor was fuelled by the alignment of a number circumstances, the first being that he had solid rock on all sides to bolster his sense of security and identity.
In addition, he had been convinced that he had been promoted to a position of honour at the head of the column
for no extra charge. The captain had actually moved him up for purely pragmatic reasons. The dwarf had a vague idea of the route through the mines and was needed as a guide. Also, he would be on hand to vouch for the caravan when they came into contact with the dwarfs of Zhufbar.
Both of these facts had been cited to the dwarf to explain his enhanced status, but if Inebric had lifted his eyes further than the rim of his tankard he would have noticed that his immediate neighbours on the journey were the same as they had been in the Dark Lands.
The positions of the caravaneers had simply been reversed, with the juicy and expendable lizard's tail now in front. Underground, the greatest risks were stumbling onto an unstable floor, a trap or an ambush. The least threat was from behind because the captain had directed his troops to form their own rolling ambush as they went.
The principle reason for Inebric's light spirit was contained in great quantity in his mule cart. After the incident at the fireside he had sought out the skink known as T'quila. The maker of the cactus water turned out to be a terrible businessman, particularly after matching the dwarf ounce for ounce as they checked the quality of a number of flasks. Inebric could not even remember what goods he had fraudulently promised in return for a mule cart load of flasks, but that wasn't important. What was important was that the skink wouldn't be able to remember either.
"Excuse me."
Inebric squinted over the side and saw a blurry lizard. He squinted harder and the image resolved to be an anxious looking Joe.
"Lass! Climb aboard" Inebric wobbled to one side of the cart and made room for his second favourite lizard.
Joe climbed up and cringed on his own side. "I'm not a-"
"I've broached a new cask of ale to celebrate the...Well, just to celebrate, and ye've arrived just in time to watch me drink it." He raised his tankard and glugged enthusiastically.
"The captain asks if you could find a place for the night's encampment."
"Oh aye! There is a gallery two miles yonder." He sloshed his tankard in a vaguely forward direction. "That will suit."
The dwarfed continued to slurp loudly until Joe interrupted with a question.
"There are no miners. Did the mine run out of ore?"
Inebric gazed blearily about. "No, lass. The mine is still full of ore. Can ye not smell it?"
Joe sniffed deeply and regretted it, "I am only getting hints of something that smells like a beer drenched carpet. Where are the miners then? Were they chased away?"
"No. The miners didn't flee. They have squared everything away, neater than my underwear drawer."
"Why did they leave then?"
"Maybe they ran out of ale. Oh, look at ye, lass." the dwarf pulled another, very small tankard out of the hull of his cart and wiped it carefully with his beard. "Do ye fancy a draught?"
Joe shuddered and climbed off the cart and watched it creak away into the gloom. As he stood there, the cart belonging to the silk merchant, Signor Marcio rumbled close by.
"Don't believe him!" the trader hissed. "Dwarfs don't wear underwear!"
Joe volunteered to scout far ahead for the next three successive days.
The dwarf had an uncanny sense of direction underground, but his role was all but superfluous. All ways converged on the Dwarf Hold of Zhufbar. At length the lizard band and the captain's command company found themselves standing before a toll booth with a flimsy orange and white barrier. No tithe master was apparent.
"Hail the Watch!” Captain Mahrlecht called repeatedly, with no reply but echoes. He looked at his tipsy guide for a suggestion.
Inebric reeled forwards.
"This will gain their attention," he took a deep breath and shouted, "Gold!"
No response. The dwarf looked a little concerned.
"They must be laying low. I'll try again." he gathered his breath once more. "Free Beer!"
Nothing.
The dwarf trader looked shaken. "They must be dead!"
Mahtis stepped over and lifted the barrier with one claw. There was no hail of lead to answer his trespass, so he continued to the tunnel's end with the others in tow. Further passage was blocked by a massive iron door which was inlayed with geometric patterns of what appeared to be silver. There was a keyhole which looked as if it would accept a key of about six feet long. Otherwise, there was no handle and no doorbell.
Inebric staggered to the door and touched it lightly with one hand. Nothing happened. Nothing continued to happen for quite some time.
Mahtis peered over the top of the small crowd that had gathered behind the befuddled Alcohlric.
"How do we open it?"
"We cannot open it, lad," the dwarf snapped, "Unless ye have a rune hammer upon ye."
"Like the one I have been conveniently carrying around for the past year?" Mahtis brandished his pride and joy.
"Aye, that should do. Bring it up."
Inebric handled the heavy treasure respectfully. "A rune hammer of Karak Andstick, I'll wager. The master rune has worn off, but it is worth a try.
The hammer was taller than himself, but, after a steadying draft from his tankard, and another for luck. And another for ancestors, the stout dwarf had no trouble fitting it into the keyhole.
Before turning the outsize key he faced the captain and his troops and gave some words of caution.
"Harken! If ye encounter the dwarfs of Zhufbar ye'll best treat them with respect. They will be hasty to form a grudge and tardy to forgive. If instead they've abandoned and sealed the hold, ye must go with care. Keep to the main way. If ye see a door, it will be a trap. If ye don't see a door, it will be a secret door, and it will be a trap. If ye don't see your legs, ye didn't listen to my warning."
The dwarf easily turned the enormous key with two fingers. The well oiled and precise mechanism released hidden counterweights and the gate slid noiselessly into a dark void above.
Mahtis gaped upwards. "How do I get my hammer back?"
Inebric grabbed the lizardman's scaly arm and pulled him down so he could whisper in his earhole. "I'll get ye a new one, if ye'll put in a word for me with a lass."
He released the confused kroxigor and slipped beneath the arch, testing each foot step warily. He tiptoed further into the gloom, following what appeared to be a random weaving path.
All of a sudden he fell from view, with a loud clunk.
Could this be the first trap?
The dwarf bobbed into view again.
"Don't ye worry! Don't ye worry! I didn't spill a drop!"
He continued to weave drunkenly into the silent hold.
The only sounds to penetrate the tomblike stillness of Zhufbar were ones made by the members of the caravan themselves. Two days passed as they traversed the hold without any sign of living dwarf. There were no bodies, no signs of battle, just empty halls.
Inebric the Trader and Guide became progressively more concerned for the dwarfs of Zhufbar, and needed to console himself with drink. By the time the vanguard reached the inside of the western gate, he was so consoled that he could barely stand.
A stone had been erected beside the gate, in which was chiselled a brief note in Khazalid runes. Light was thrown upon it and the dwarf was propped up to read it.
"Do the runes tell where the dwarfs went?" Joe demanded.
"Keep your hair on, lass...” Inebric squinted at the lizardman and noted the absence of hair for the first time. He consoled himself again and traced his stubby fingers over the raised lines of the angular writing. "That's a relief," he said.*
"What? What happened?"
"I can tell that although they left in haste, they are planning to return."
"Where did they go?"
"It doesn't say where. It just says, 'If ye be reading these runes, please put the milk bottles out'."
The gate of the hold could be opened from inside without a key. The first members of the caravan to pass outside were the Ungols, and the last was Inebric himself who ensured that the gate was secured behind him.
If the Ungols had hoped to gaze at the blue sky, they were surely disappointed. It was still afternoon, but the sky looked like lead, drearier even than the Dark Lands.
No one was there to witness the appearance of the caravan except for one small boy who was watching a flock of goats. He took one look at the pale men who emerged and ran down the road piping, "The hold is open! The hold is open!"
A neat human town had grown in the valley below the hold, thriving on the commerce that flowed through the gates. As they approached it, the travellers noted that the town was intact and populated, but quiet. The markets were largely empty, and the taverns seemed like they would be barely able to muster a squabble, let alone a regulation brawl.
In the town square a delegation of town elders waited. One hailed the captain.
"Greetings travelers, you are welcome to visit our town in peace. Please avail yourselves of refreshment and lodging."
The grey beards seemed almost overly full of deference to the dusty and smelly caravaneers.
"Hail the elders." Captain Mahrlecht replied as he dismounted, "What news of the dwarfs of Zhufbar?"
The old men muttered among themselves. At length the spokesman replied.
"We had hoped you would have tidings to give for you came from within, good sir. The dwarfs have not shown themselves this last month. But we can discuss such things as these strange days over a hot meal. The hour is late and it is best to be indoors before nightfall in these parts. Let our ostlers look to your beasts, and you to your own comfort. I am Lothar, elder of this town, and I invite you to enjoy that which humble Sylvania has to offer."
) but there are a few minor things
he won me over very quickly.