Chapter 40: At the Gates

Chapter 40: At the Gates

We passed by the dungeon of Greentree as we approached the city, and I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck raise up.

The boundary of the dungeon was a sudden and imposing wall of wood. The dark greens and purples of the treeline loomed towards the road; there was a palpable feeling of menace to the place. Birdsong, hoots, and roars echoed out from the forest. Several adventuring groups were stationed outside, and they all seemed on high alert. Defensive structures dotted the landscape around the half kilometer diameter copse of trees.

A large *crack* caught our attention and several tree tops deeper in the woods swayed. Birds erupted into the air and the forest went silent, but for the sound of more crunching wood moving deeper into the dungeon.

[Translated from angry toothless gnome] “Verily, the adventurers do a most excellent job keeping the dungeon contained.”

“We heard about a possible dungeon break back at the... mine. Is it looking likely?”

“Lunara’s lace, I hope not.” Balin shivered beside me. I patted him on the shoulder as we passed by.

[Translated from angry toothless gnome] “By the grace of Barck, no monster stampede shall befall us.”

Gimbletack snapped the reins and urged his donkey on faster. Our eyes never left the dungeon until we were well past. Hopefully, we’d never come near it again.

The last kilometer to the city was packed with travelers. There were even roadside stalls and whole caravans. Then I had my first glimpse of dwarven children; they looked a lot like short human children. Sort of.

“Balin, those kids have moustaches.”

“All kids have moustaches Pete. You took care of tha unigoats long enough that I woulda thought you knew that.”

“Arggh. No, I mean do all dwarven children have moustaches? Or are those just some gnomes that have aged really well?” I whispered hoarsely and pointed towards a small group of children playing what looked like a cross between cricket, croquet, and MMA. A pitcher tossed a small rubber ball at another child who hit it with a makeshift mallet. The ‘batter’ then ran back and forth between a pair of sticks while the other children tried to tackle them while another group defended. There was a lot of punching and kicking involved.L1tLagoon witnessed the first publication of this chapter on Ñøv€l--B1n.

Balin leaned over to look. “Ah, they’re playin hitball. I love that game! Ta answer yer question, all dwarven children ‘ave moustaches. Beard hair doesn’t grow till they’re at least thirty.”

I continued to watch the game in fascination. The higher base vitality of dwarves seemed to make small scraps possible without serious injury. While I watched, the pitcher got a hold of the ball and beaned the runner in the head with it. There was some cheering and then the teams switched places. Some of the children ran in front of the cart and Gimbletack had to pull on the reins to prevent an accident.

[Translated from angry toothless gnome] “Pray move out of the way, dear children! Your mothers must be so proud that you were birthed from their bodies’!”

Crisis averted, I turned back to Balin. “That looks fun. We should play sometime!”

“I used to! I was tha all-star pounder fer my school team!” He thumped his chest and flapped his arms. “Go Shadow Crows, ca-caw!”

“Go Shadow Crows, ca-caw!” I copied him and we both burst into laughter.

[Translated from angry toothless gnome] “I do so enjoy talking about sports.”

—

Up close, Minnova was even more impressive than it had been from far away. The city walls rose up nearly twenty meters. They were made of smooth stone, and I couldn’t see a single seam. The outside of the city was a flat plane with dozens of tents and wagons set up, but no permanent structures. There were cooking fires and a massive milieu of grubby looking people. There were a few children here and there, but it mostly looked like adventurers and vagrants. I actually saw a couple of humans among them.

A gnomess bard stood on a makeshift stage made of wooden pallets in the middle of a ring of wagons. Her instrument was some kind of mix between a lute and a guitar, which until I am told otherwise is now called a glute. She was singing something that reminded me deeply of “Sweet Home Alabama” and I lost myself for a while.

“Gimbletack, who are all those people?”

[Translated from angry toothless gnome] “They are upstanding adventurers and nomads who lack either the coin or the desire to enter the city.”

I broke out of my reverie. “It costs money to enter the city!?”

Gimbletack hauled on the reins. [Translated from angry toothless gnome] “I am not overly concerned about your monetary situation but you had better be able to pay me.”

We paid Gimbletack, who spat and trundled off, then stood in line to enter the city. There were two main lines, one for pedestrians and another for merchants. Gimbletack had moved into the merchant line, which was moving rather more quickly than our own.

I looked back at the way we’d come. The mining camp was so distant that it couldn’t be seen. Here in the center of the cavern, the ground slowly sloped upwards far off into the distance. It was like being in the middle of an enormous lumpy bowl.

“I can’t imagine a road this well maintained simply goes to the mining camps. We must have traveled over fifty kilometers and there wasn't a single pothole.”

“Tha highways connect tha cities of Crack to tha capital so they need ta be in good shape. This one connects to tha city of Gungu.”

We made small talk with the dwarves next to us as the line moved towards the gate. The general sentiment was worry about the state of the dungeon, and excitement about the upcoming decamillennial celebration. A couple of guards checked every traveler and cart as it came into the city, but the line still moved fairly briskly. At one point, there was some yelling from the guards and a small commotion on the merchant side of the line.

[Translated from angry toothless Gnome] “My cabbages!”

Soon it was our turn and a severe looking dwarf in plate mail frowned as he waved us forward. A sigil of a tree under a mountain marked him as part of the Minnovan city guard. His nameplate read: ‘Hammer’. Some faintly rotting cabbages were strewn around the front of the gate, and a rather tired looking dwarf in overalls was sweeping them up.

“Truly, these events shall lead to the death of our world.” Said a third.

Another spoke up, their voice light and melodious. “All know of the dwarf king’s competition. I was disturbed to see it, and more disturbed by the sudden interest.”

“We shall be there to stand against it. Our children shall be the bulwark against this abomination the king has wrought.”

“What word is there of the young upstart? Has she been suitably chastised?” The first turned to look at a silent brooding figure, the tallest of them all.

“She... ‘as not truly recovered.” The tall figure ground out, their respectful tone belying an undercurrent of shame and anger.

“Hmph, it was the will of the ancestors that the explosion occurred.” The first figure bowed his head and clasped his hands. “We are but their instrument.”

The refrain was repeated by all assembled.

“THE WILL OF THE ANCESTORS.”

“At least there are some that stand against the darkness, like that chap Whistlemop!” The second figure piped up.

“Indeed! His wares are how the future should be approached! An innovation that brings forth the colour of the brew and its essence, but does not intrude upon what makes it the True Brew.” The first figure nodded sagely as he regarded the assembly. “Are there any others that bring forth a concern to the Honourable Guild of Brewers?”

“Ma boys caught a beer smuggler.” One figure put in, the sneer evident in their gravely voice.

“Excellent, were they properly dealt with?”

“As we always ‘ave. They won’t be a problem again.”

“Very good.”

Another figure put up a hand and said in a cultured accent, “The cost of Erdroot has gone up by an unacceptable amount.”

“Yes, people are panic buying in preparation for a dungeon break. We will do what we can to manipulate the market.” The first figure said, with more confidence than they likely felt. There was a lengthy pause before he spoke again. “Anyone else?”

“Are we done yet?” A figure that had been gently snoring up until this point, asked in a quavering tone. “Did your wife pack the treacle tarts, Browning?”

“Oh yes, dear Shalea’s tarts are always the highlight of these meetings.” Another heretofore silent figure put in. There was a general murmur of agreement.

“Can we get some lights on in ‘ere?”

“Midna’s mullet, these theatrics are bloody daft, Browning.”

“How did you deal with that smuggler, Drum?”

“Gave ‘is address to City Hall, heh heh.”

“Hah! He’ll be payin’ taxes fer decades!”

A dim lamp was lit in the center of the table, as the first figure pulled back his hood, revealing a grey-bearded and balding dwarf. He sighed the deep sigh of a long suffering friend that has put up with your shit for far too long. “Yes, I have the tarts, Malt. She packed them especially for you.”

Browning put a doily wrapped box on the table and the grumble pulled back their hoods to reveal a collection of ageing dwarves and dwarvesses. One of them pulled aside the wall hanging of a black mountain and opened up a secret door. Bright light streamed in to a bevy of curses and shouts as he called up the stairs, “Bring us a round of drinks, the meeting is breaking up!”

“Aye sir, Master Brewer!” A young voice called back down, and the door was closed again to general relief.

“Fine, I guess we’re done for the night.” Browning moaned, and massaged his temples. “To close, in the matter of Annie Goldstone, the engineering report is available at Pewtership & Pewtership.”

“So it was an engineering failure?”

“Yes and no. Young Annie was so sure of her work that when she had the vats commissioned, she did not get them looked at by an [Engineer]. She was worried about espionage.” Browning frowned, “A foolish consideration. Who among us would dare to change the brewing techniques of our ancestors?”

“Did you know, I heard she put lemonade in her beer when she first got back?” Malt whispered.

“Ugh, foul. Truly?”

“Yes, but she ‘asn’t since.”

The grumble nodded their general agreement around mouthfuls of tart. It was a shame what had happened to her, but hopefully with that young firebrand cooling off, the next few centuries would be just as quiet as the last.