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Stoneseed, Chapter 2

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Acier was the first to surface, followed by Clay: Avis reluctantly joined them a few moments later, his eyes shut.
'Avis?' Acier asked. 'You okay?'
'You okay?' Clay repeated.
'I don't like it up here,' Avis said quietly. 'There's too much everything.'
'Too much everything.'
'Too much everything?' Acier asked, glancing around. There was a broad pit behind them, boarded over for the most part but with an open space containing the ladder they'd just taken. Around them were the foothills of Deeproot; the terrain was still relatively level, but steep, chalky cliffs were visible perhaps half a kilometre behind them; above these was Deeproot's great vertical bulk, filling the skyline. Turning around, he eventually found the trade road, half-buried beneath some surprisingly thick foliage. Apparently not many people used this entrance to the catacombs.

'Too much everything,' Avis said. 'I don't like it out here-- in the catacombs it's quiet and dark and it doesn't smell of anything but dust. But up here it's bright and everything is loud and there are too many smells and I don't like it. I don't like it!'
'Don't like it,' Clay repeated.
'You're overstimulated, 'Acier realised. 'Clay, can you clear us a path to the main road from here?'
'Road from here? Yes,' they said.

Avis held his nose with one hand and grabbed Acier's shoulder with the other: his grip tightened and loosened rhythmically for reasons Acier didn't quite understand. The autistic Dwarf's eyes were tightly shut, and he was trying to find some way of covering his ears. He was dead silent, too; the only sounds were the steady whine of Acier's tinnitus and the creaking and snapping and rustling of Clay's efforts to clear away the worst of the sturdy plants that blocked the road from view. The early afternoon sun did little to warm them, and soon both Dwarves were feeling the chill.

Before long, however, they were onto the main road: the gates of Deeproot loomed into view. They towered were several metres tall, towering over even the human inhabitants of the fortress, and carved from light but powerful steel. The gateposts were great slabs of smooth stone, but the gates themselves were covered by two depictions of Dirwelig, the Demite of Dwarves; during the Old Age, He had been considered an outright God, but this interpretation had fallen out of favour, and He was now considered to be one of the more prominent aspects of The Highest.

There were other fortresses with grander entrances, beautifully complex gates, but Acier had something of a soft spot for Deeproot's.

It wasn't until he first left Deeproot that Acier discovered it was something of an oddity among the Dwarven Fortresses: it was one of only two or three to not have its name prefaced by a height marker. The only other major one was Sandspur, and that was half a continent risewards of Deeproot, on the coast. Acier had never been there, but he'd sent Golems there once or twice to work on the docks. He'd explained that they could have gone for a supplier closer to them, but they'd have a hard time finding one better. Sales weren't exactly his strong point, but his golems were good to the point where almost all of his customers were repeat customers.

The gates were left open at all hours, of course; Low Fortresses were built on trade with both the Human Kingdoms and neighbouring Dwarven settlements. Acier passed through, Clay and Avis following close behind; Clay didn't draw the attention of many bystanders, although Golems (and Automata) of all shapes and sizes were a common enough sight in Deeproot.

'Is it just me,' Acier said, scanning the crowd, 'or does that look a lot like our man from the Historian's Guild?'
'Historian's Guild,' Clay repeated.
Avis said nothing; he gripped Acier's shoulder even tighter.

Still, the tall figure standing near the gates was looking distinctly lost, and they were head and shoulders over the Dwarven crowd. They looked to be maybe a hundred and eighty centimetres tall, at a guess, with rich, dark skin and a bald head-- the traces of stubble suggested they went through the trouble of shaving it regularly, but had been unable to do so for a day or two.
''Scuse me,' they said, as Acier approached. Do you know where I could find someone by the name of Avis Partant?'
'Avis Partant,' Clay echoed.
Acier gestured to Avis. 'And you are?'
'And you are?'
'Dhalroc Colfen,' he said. 'I'm your man from the Historian's Guild. Curious Golem you have here. I take it that's what I'm here for?'
'I'm here for.'
'They are,' Acier nodded. 'We'd best head to the inner fortress.'
'The inner fortress.'
'I wasn't aware that was open to non-Dwarves,' Dhalroc said, surprised.
'To non-Dwarves,' Clay responded.
'Maybe that's how things were during the Old Age,' Acier said, 'but these days everything is open to everyone-- we'd best head there now, actually. It's usually pretty quiet in my workshop there, so Avis won't be overstimulated like he is now.'
'He is now.'
'Sounds reasonable,' Dhalroc nodded. 'Although you'll have to show me the way, I'm afraid-- it shows that I've never been to a Dwarven settlement before, doesn't it?'
'Doesn't it?'
Acier nodded, starting towards the great stone doorway that marked the entrance to the Inner Fortress. 'You were waiting around at the gate, for a start- nobody ever does that.'
'Ever does that.'
'Truth be told I didn't know where to go,' Dhalroc said. 'The Guild never arranges lodging, and Avis arranged to meet me at the door-- trouble was I didn't know which door he meant.'
'Door he meant.'

Acier noticed Dhalroc couldn't help but gaze in curiosity at the relatively mundane surroundings. The outer fortress was designed to accommodate humans and other Tallerkin (Elves and Orcs) as much as Dwarves; the door frames were a good two metres tall, and always had been, whereas the ones in the Inner Fortress had been altered at some point during the New Age. Acier made a mental note to take him to one of the inns before he left; they'd have to drink at one of the central tables, but he'd no doubt enjoy the experience.

And besides, he was alarmingly handsome.

'This place is... interesting,' Dhalroc said. 'It looks so much like a human town.'
'Human town,' Clay echoed.
'The outer fortress started the same way as other outer fortresses,' Acier explained. 'A sort of middle ground to accommodate merchants from the Human Kingdoms without having to allow them into the mountain itself. Given that it was designed with humans in mind, it's no wonder it feels human.'
'Feels human.'
'I guess it is a little different,' Dhalroc continued. 'I mean, there's a lot more stone-- and is every building carved like this?'
'Carved like this.'
'More or less,' Acier nodded.
'More or less,' Clay repeated.

It was true: two or three different kinds of stone had been used to build the outer fortress, but the buildings were far from featureless blocks. Each one was engraved to some degree: some merely had detailing and simple designs carved into the stark gray pillars of their walls, but others were more elegant and covered in elaborate pictograms depicting stylised versions of heroes and dragons and other assorted monsters. One or two of the more important buildings-- the residence of the Marquis, for example, which was traditionally part of the outer fortress as a gesture of goodwill to merchants and other outsiders, and several public buildings such as the covered market and one or two guard towers.

'And the roads,' Dhalroc continued. 'They're... wider than what I'm used to. Most of Antliss isn't this open-- not even the rich district.'
'Rich district,' Clay echoed.
'It was designed for coaches and wagons,' Acier said. 'Two or three can pass one another with room to spare.'
'Room to spare.'
'I think I'm going to like it here,' Dhalroc said. 'It'll probably take me a few days to get everything catalogued and examined-- I don't suppose I could talk either of you into giving me a tour, once we've stopped off at your workshop?'
'At your workshop.'
'I'd be glad to,' Acier said. 'I can't guarantee Avis will, but he'll no doubt be willing to show you the catacombs, for a little Gold.'
'A little Gold.'
'Why exactly do you use Gold as currency?' Dhalroc asked, taking a coin from his pocket and examining it. The disk was shiny; smooth on one side and marked with a complex stamp depicting Dirwelig (and showing the year and fortress of manufacture) on the other, His beard a maze of square knot-like patterns.
'Gold as Currency.'
'It's cheap, plentiful and easy to work with,' Acier explained. 'Plus it holds Enchantments and Imbuements better than any other metal.'
'Any other metal.'

They reached the inner fortress after around twenty minutes of walking. Since it had been opened up to outsiders, the inner fortress had grown significantly, absorbing most of what had once been outside. Acier knew the place like the back of his hand: the workshops on the lower levels, the government stuff on the upper levels, and everything else on the ground floor-- nice and accessible. The exterior doors opened onto a vast, open hallway, filled with vast marble statues of Dwarves holding great balls of Alchemical fire in their cupped hands, bathing the great chamber in a warm light. The entrance chamber was designed mostly to impress visitors, and a glance at Dhalroc's awestruck face showed it was serving its purpose admirably.
'My workshop is on the second floor,' Acier said. 'The stairs on the right bring us out fairly close to it. It's a shared workspace, but it's the best I can afford.'
'I can afford,' Clay repeated.
'If it's half as impressive as this place, I'm eager to see it,' Dhalroc said.
'To see it.'
'The current workshops were excavated during the late Old Age,' Avis said, slowly releasing his grip on Acier's shoulder. 'They used to be part of the Catacombs-- same for all the lower levels.'
'The lower levels.'
'Wait,' Dhalroc realised, as they neared the door to the stairwell. 'Lower levels? I thought you said it was on the second floor.'
'The second floor.'
'It... Is?' Acier asked.
'It is.'
'Mine second, not surface second,' Avis explained. 'Start at the top and go down.'
'And go down.'
'Start at the...?' Dhalroc asked, puzzled. 'I'd probably have an easier time understanding this if I wasn't so tired from the journey. No convenient inns or stables for a couple days.'
'A couple days.'
'It's all farmhouses around here, yeah,' Acier said. They'd reached the staircase now: it wound steadily downwards into the earth, the walls shifting from plain grey rock to polished granite. 'And Avis has trouble getting his meaning across sometimes. What he's saying here is that we number the floors of our fortresses like we do the levels of our mines. Ground at the top, then one below it, two below one, three below that, and so on.'
'And so on.'
'You've got your horse somewhere safe, I hope?' Acier asked.
'I paid two weeks in advance at a stable just outside of torn,' Dhalroc said. 'And left instructions on how to get in touch with the Guild if I'm here longer. It'll come out of my pay, but that's true either way-- this way, I don't have to worry about it.'
'Worry about it,' Clay repeated.
Acier shivered slightly. 'Clay, that's a little unnerving.'
'Little unnerving,' they said. 'How so, master?' They tilted their head slightly to one side; Acier was amazed by this. He'd never thought to give his Golems body language like this.
'He said he doesn't have to worry about it, and you... it came across as you telling him to worry about it, Clay.'
'About it, Clay,' they replied. 'My apologies, master.'

As they continued towards the workshop, Avis pointed out feature after feature that showed the lower levels had once been part of the catacombs: a blocked-off tunnel covered over with carvings here, a marking in the paved floor there, and a handful of rooms that had once been passageways running parallel with the one they were now in, but had been divided up into individual rooms at one time or another.

The catacombs, Acier had long known, were both a home and a hobby to Avis, and a job to boot. He was equal parts guide and explorer; Acier wouldn't be surprised to discover there were bricked-up passageways and collapsed chambers that only he knew about.

'Here,' Acier said abruptly, halting by an unassuming wooden doorway bearing an engraved plate with two names carved into it. 'Luisant usually leaves the door unlocked when she's in.'
'When she's in,' Clay repeated.
Sure enough, Acier was able to push the door open with ease. The workshop was a single large chamber, divided along the middle, with the nearer half belonging to Luisant Godet and the further half being Acier's. The long room contained two tables, one each, both made from metal: Acier's was covered in dents and scratches, whereas Luisant's was practically one large black patch. One leg had been taken clean off by something, and had been hastily reattached. The walls were lined with shelves; Acier's contained heavy-looking leatherbound reference tomes, but Luisant's were lined with flowers made from blown glass.

Acier's table was covered in clay and slips of paper and various other tools of his trade, whereas Luisant's was covered in...
'Luisant?' Acier asked. 'What exactly is it you're working on?'
'You're working on,' Clay repeated, filing into the room, Avis and Dhalroc in tow; the two were conversing animatedly about the Catacombs.

Luisant, who had been standing with her back to the others, turned around. She was shorter than Acier, but only by a centimetre or two. Her heavy black hair was tied back loosely, and her light brown skin was covered in black smudges wherever it was visible. She wore a pair of bulky glass goggles over her face, and was holding what appeared to be a tower shield with a slot cut into it at eye level.
'I'm not entirely sure yet,' she admitted. 'But you fellas might want to stand back a little.' She raised the shield and clicked her fingers: a spark flew from them and landed on the table, finding the end of a trail of grey-black powder. The powder ignited quickly, the spark flashing along its winding length, and reached a small wooden box on the far side.

The box exploded in a spectacular bang, taking half the table with it: splinters embedded themselves in the walls, shattering one or two of Luisant's flowers, and a whole shelf of Acier's books tilted sideways, spilling its contents onto the floor. A rain of debris clattered and pinged against Luisant's shield, which Acier noticed as she turned around, smiling with glee, was now black with soot.
'Wow!' she grinned. 'That was... a lot more powerful than I expected. I need to write this down...' she began searching the remains of her workspace for a scrap of paper that wasn't scorched and covered in soot.
'Write this down,' Clay repeated.
'What in The Highest's name was that?' Dhalroc asked, between coughing fits.
'Name was that.' Acier was amazed Clay knew not to repeat the coughing; their creator had been beyond talented.
'I call it sparkpowder,' Luisant said. 'Although that was... a little more than a spark, I admit. I should probably earmark that formula for outdoor testing only-- no sense getting any more stains on the ceiling.'
'On the ceiling.'
Acier glanced up and, sure enough, the ceiling over Luisant's desk was jet black.

Acier turned to his companions and noticed Avis was standing looking shocked, his arms by his sides, his hands making gripping motions.
'You okay, Avis?'
'You okay, Avis.'
He shook his head sharply. 'Too sudden and too loud.'
'And too loud,' Clay repeated.
'Clay,' Acier said, 'wait for us on the other side of the workshop. I'll be back for you once I've given Dhalroc a tour of the place.'
'Tour of the place,' Clay stated. 'As you wish, master. Is there anything you wish me to do in your absence?'
'See if you can't fix that shelf,' Acier said, gesturing to the one that had collapsed in the blast. Luisant was the reason he'd managed to get this workshop so cheap: she owned it outright, used one half, and rented the other half. Over the years, she had slowly but surely had to drop her prices to the point where people would decide they were worth it, considering her often destructive experimentation. Acier had considered moving once or twice, but the location was too good to pass up, despite the occasional unexpected risks.

Presently, he turned back to Dhalroc and Avis: the former had finally stopped coughing, and the latter's hands had relaxed visibly. The three of them left Luisant and Clay behind to try and reassemble the workshop, starting back towards the ground floor.

'That happen often?' Dhalroc asked, struggling to clean his face off.
'You mean Luisant's little experiment, or him?' Acier responded, gesturing to Avis.
'Both, actually,' Dhalroc decided, after a moment. He examined his reflection briefly in the shining name plaque on a door as they passed by; Acier decided it shouldn't be possible to look so handsome whilst covered in soot.
'Well... Luisant's hobbies are making glass flowers and blowing things up,' Acier explained. 'She doesn't indulge in the more destructive of her interests all that often, lucky for the rest of us. Usually, there's just the spark and a little pop. This was actually the worst I'd seen it-- if we'd arrived a couple minutes later, we would have avoided it entirely.'
'Blame my horse for that one,' Dhalroc said dismissively. 'I don't know exactly where she was bred, but she's a force of nature.'
'I-- I don't like big noises,' Avis said. 'Or lots of things happening at once. If there's too much of one thing like in there or too many little things, like outside, then... I can't handle it. The grippy hands help, but I-- I don't like it.'
'Ah,' Dhalroc said, turning to Avis as they ascended the stairs. 'I'm with you now.
'Wait,' he realised, 'that pendant...'
Avis raised his hands to his throat defensively.
'I-- never mind,' Dhalroc said. 'I shouldn't have mentioned anything-- not out here, anyway.'

Acier looked at the two of them in confusion; all three remained silent for several more minutes, until they reached the main floor once more.
'Deeproot is a fast-growing fortress,' Acier explained, as they strode along the hallway; he couldn't notice that Dhalroc was still fascinated by the statues, and every few minutes he would halt to read the inscription at the foot of one. 'So we've ended up with quite a lot crammed into this little old place. There's the faith quarter-- it probably seems a little odd to you to have a Church of the Highest, a synagogue, a mosque and a non-denominational church to the Demites and the Pantheon in the same area, I admit, but Dwarves are nothing if not methodical with fortress planning. There's the public quarter, further into the mountain; that's where we've got all the locally-owned stores, your blacksmiths, your tailors, your tinkerers, and a few purely commercial Golemancers. There's also a Mercenary's Guild outpost there-- we've had a lot of people seeking passage to the outpost half way up the mountain.'
'Outpost?' Dhalroc asked.
'A sort of middle ground between the High Fortress and the Low Fortress,' Acier said. 'Hollowpeak and Deeproot, respectively It's built around...' he floundered. 'Avis?'
'Midslope is an independent colony built around modern applications of Sorcery,' the autistic Dwarf explained. 'There's a region in the catacombs once used by a similar group. I get most of my water from the supply they created-- it never runs out.'
'Convenient,' Dhalroc noted.'

They came now to a large junction: one path went off to the left, into the faith quarter, and another continued on ahead towards the merchant's quarter. To the right was the residential quarter (and by far the largest part of the inner fortress); straight up, via a winding marble staircase, was the Mercenary outpost and, beyond that, the slopes of Deeproot itself.

'Where are you staying?' Acier asked, turning to a still awestruck Dhalroc.
'Well, I was meant to be staying in a farmhouse just outside the fortress proper, but that kind of fell through. You know any good inns?'
'A few,' Acier said, 'but there are better places to stay. Try the Innova-- it's a guest house in the residential quarter. The uppermost level is actually built on the surface; if you can grab yourself a room there, you'll have a great view.'
'Innova,' Dhalroc said. 'Easy enough to remember. Where can I get something to eat around here?'
'Merchant's quarter,' Acier said. 'I'm pretty hungry myself, actually-- Avis, you want anything?'
Avis considered it, but shook his head. 'I don't like restaurants. Too many smells.'
'How about some street food, then?' Acier offered. 'I know a great crepe place...'
'Okay,' Avis said plainly. 'I found a street food place once in the catacombs, or at least the remains of one. Didn't stay long-- eggs.'
'Eggs?' Dhalroc asked, puzzled.
'There were... a lot of eggs there?' Acier suggested. 'Or something else?'
'Something else.'
'One really big egg?' Dhalroc suggested.
'Not a big egg,' Avis stated.
'Lots of big eggs?' Acier asked.
'A few normal-sized eggs,' Dhalroc said.
'Normal-sized. But more,' Avis said.
'More... than a few, but less than a lot,' Acier guessed. 'Or something else?'
'Something else,' Avis said.

Acier stood in silence for a moment or two. 'Was it the eggs there were more of, or was there something as well as the eggs?'
'Something else,' Avis said. His hands were flapping slightly; Acier realised they must be close to what he was getting at.
'How long had they been down there for, Avis?' Dhalroc realised.
'Long,' Avis said.
'The smell!' Acier exclaimed. 'The smell, or something else?'
'The smell,' Avis said. 'They smelled really really bad.'
'Somehow,' Dhalroc chuckled, 'that doesn't surprise me.
'So! Crepes, then back to your workshop for a quick inspection of Clay? It's been a long day, but this find... I want to start working on them as soon as possible.'
'Sounds like a reasonable plan to me,' Acier said. 'I haven't eaten for a while myself.'

The three of them set off for the merchant's quarter, their stomachs rumbling.

Aaaand my sixth novel is done! Finally.

This one was written as a (n incredibly late) birthday gift for MidnightSoiree! It's a little more comedic on the whole than most of my other novels, but just like my other comedy (The Road Less Taken), there's plenty of drama in there, too.

Given that I have about 30-odd chapters to post, I'll keep the description short. This novel was very loosely based on an ill-fated (but enjoyable all the same) trip to Paris I took last year, and fleshes out a lot of elements of the setting I've been meaning to get to.
© 2015 - 2024 venort
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