Fluid - 34

The steady lifting of the stone wall takes half a minute before the bottom lip comes into view, and a steel plate lifts to bridge the gap. U-shaped cut-outs let it seal around the pistons that continue pushing until the stone is above the passageway’s ceiling. Another guard waves us through; a metallic racket of latches locking into place accompanies his gesture.

When we get past the defensive bottleneck closest to the staging yard, Ellother inhales at the beautiful stonework of the main hallway. The minutiae of the figures carved into the stonework here rival a canopy for the number of details that draw the eye. There isn’t a gemstone or any metalwork adding to the details, only the artist working with the stone’s natural grain to create beautiful scenes.

Though dwarves often celebrated battles, the artisans had devoted the carvings here to miners, crafters and exploration. Scenes of giant caverns being carefully explored and surveyed lay alongside lifelike depictions of forges and workshops in miniature. Full-sized reliefs of individual dwarves lay between the sections and were—from what I’ve been told—the likenesses of renowned miners and crew leaders.

“I would have never guessed at anything like this being present. The settlements I’ve been to have all been blocky, solid buildings without an embellishment,” murmurs Ellother. “There is nothing of any grace about them. Is there anything else I should know that might make an uncomfortable surprise?”

“The code of law here is simple in spirit, though it has a lot of details that can cause you to come unstuck. Before you settle an agreement with anyone, ensure it's within ‌the code’s allowances, and that we can fulfil it,” I caution.

“Did you want to meet your mother first?”

The thought of Ellother meeting my mother nearly sets me giggling. “I’ll let her know we’ll be at the auction house; if we go to Moradin’s Hall, who knows what discussions we’ll be interrupting.”

The auction house is deep within Duskstone, and I guide us towards a secondary route to avoid the busiest passages. “I’m surprised Yngvarr didn’t mention having issues when he and Alfarr lived here. I think I’ll talk to him about his experiences.”

“I hope my being here won’t cause problems for you,” murmurs Ellother.

“We’ve already learnt there is strong emotion about the situation, and the High Crafter will be able to tell you more. The question is, did you want to talk to her together or handle it on your own?”

Ellother pulls a face and doesn’t reply immediately, and it's only after passing several shopfronts that she shakes her head. “If you’re present, how is it something the Andúnë people are handling? I mean, yes; we’d still need to make amends, but if we can’t even get them to talk to us about the problem, how have we learn anything?”

“I don’t think it's going to be something that’s worked out overnight. Personally, I feel that starting the healing between your people is a good thing, but I can understand it might not be my place to do so.”

“You didn’t exactly take a delicate approach, but it's hard to get some elders even to acknowledge anyone under four hundred has a valid view. If you don’t know there is a problem in a ledger, how do you isolate it, let alone resolve it?” asks Ellother before she lapses into a thoughtful silence.

When we get close to the auction house, quite a crowd is dispersing. I recognise both master crafters and crests from a variety of high clans. Moving aside, I let the ones heading towards us go past and try to judge how well their days have been going by their postures and expressions. From the conversation snippets I catch it was an energetic auction, but I didn’t hear anyone commenting on their successful bids. A bitter-toned dwarf coming my way catches my attention, and I focus on his words, full of sharp undertones for all their moderate phrasing.

“Still no adamantine coming out of that new seam; between the seniors and outsiders, we’ve not seen enough spare to scratch an itch, let alone make a dagger.”

“Save up, or simply tell the customer they’ve got to wear the excess materials cost if they want it made.”

“Then they just go off to the seniors if they’re going to pay that eight times the usual amount just for materials.”

“Based on the winning bid, eleven times. But it's pure hardship to have so much mithril for work,” snorts his partner. “You’ll just have to get an alchemist to create the alloy version.”

“I don’t like working with that black stuff; good, honourable warriors don’t go about wearing black.”

Aunt Am’s tendency to wear black tempts me to comment, but since they’ve already passed, I bite my tongue and keep walking.

The auction house’s front doors are a solid black marble with the Clan Gildenshield crest presented as a gold inlay on each door. Its pattern is a mountain path blocked by a dwarven rider atop a Dire Boar. Though both appear feathered with Orc spears and arrows, they still stand firm, protecting the High King’s banner at the peak. Unlike Natsal, the guards at the auction house don’t comment on Ellother’s approach and allow the doors to open.

One thing has been clear since my first visit—whoever designed the entry for Clan Gildenshield’s auction house must have loved marble. Nearly everywhere one looks around the reception area is marble, or granite polished to a sheen to mimic it. I’m sure they only used the polished red granite for the floor because of sturdy dwarven work boots—try telling a Dwarf to leave his armoured boots at the door.

Ten paces beyond the door’s arc, the reception desk is a black and silver marble breakwater with mithril filigree blocking immediate access to the broad staircase that rises straight to the next level. At the landing, it splits into two staircases, each heading to join the upper floor at either end of the balcony. The marble railings are golden with ivory veins, matching the pillars that support the ceiling. In the pillars' shadows stand guards in full mithril armour with an array of weaponry.

The staff at the reception desk were busy tending to a half dozen dwarves making payments and giving instructions for delivery. One of the male dwarves behind the desk glanced our way. Handing the dwarf he’d been speaking to a token, he gave me a nod of recognition though I couldn’t remember being introduced.

“Hello, Gailneth. Are you here to see Master Dunlan, or were you after another appraiser?”

“Master Dunlan, if he’s around,” I say, trying not to hold my breath in case of another angry reaction.

The dwarf gaze flicked over Ellother curiously, but he snapped his focus back to me. “He’s just tidying up details with some of the winning bids. Did you have materials to drop off or other matters to discuss?”

“A sizable mass of materials to assess, but I also need to talk with him,” I say.

Rather than enquire, he nods before waving a messenger over. “Escort Gailneth and her guest to Master Dunlan’s meeting room and then let him know he has visitors.”

The messenger looks only just old enough to be braiding a clan token into her beard—which makes her years older than me. Nodding to acknowledge the receptionist’s instructions, she gestures for us to follow along and escorts us to a familiar room on the top floor. After ensuring we knew the mead keg and whiskey within the wet bar were available, she headed off.

Ellother takes in the assorted engravings that line the wall, along with the individual pieces of arms and armour displayed on pedestals. Despite the items' battered states, they rested on stands of precious metals that were pieces of art themselves in the precision of their crafting. In the middle of the room, a low stone table—made from more marble, of course—sat surrounded by sturdy-looking chairs, each wide enough to seat four of me. The dwarves favour a wide U-shaped style and, though they have armrests, there isn’t any back to the chair; given the number of dwarves that carry weapons across their back, it makes sense.

“I should have asked the messenger how long he’ll be,” sighed Ellother, and she sat facing the door. “Would they expect dwarves in full plate to sit about in such a room? Surely they’d scratch up the polish on the stonework.”

Smiling, I pour a mug of whiskey and set it down at the end of the table for Dunlan before I sit beside her. “I’ve seen it happen, but not all dwarves need that full plate armour to be so wide. They would restore the stone from any scratches the armour might cause. Would you tell me about the layout of Andúnë homes? Perhaps I can encourage some adjustments to the pavilions to make staying in them more familiar.”

Upon pushing open the door, Dunlan gave a broad smile that lit up his emerald gaze. “Gailneth, good to see you again.”

His gaze settling on Ellother’s clothing brought his greeting to a halt, and he ran a hand down his finally combed honey-blond beard, eyeing Ellother with sudden suspicion. “None of your usual escorts would wear an Andúnë house crest.”

“Ellother, this Master Assessor Dunlan Gildenshield; he runs the auction house here in Duskstone with his elder sister. Master Dunlan, this is Ellother of House Roquentar, of the Andúnë realm on Vehtë.”

His moustache drew in as his smile vanished.

Ellother stood and bowed. “Master Gildenshield, I’ve only recently learnt a grievance had festered between our people, but I’ve not yet learnt what amends we can make. I’d ask you to allow me to keep a separation between making amends and conducting my duties as Gailneth’s steward.”

As he looks her over, Dunlan’s gaze doesn’t soften. “If you behave as a proper steward, I’ll endeavour to do so.”

“Might I ask if you’d help me find a teacher in the dwarven customs on such duties?” enquires Ellother.

“You’re off to a good start by asking; I’ll have to make enquiries,” replies Dunlan. With that, he shut the door he’d held and went to his usual spot, eyeing the cup of whiskey. “Thank you, Gail, but you should know you’re my guest?”

“Friends can do things for friends,” I counter. “It seemed like it would have been a busy day, so it seemed right to have a drink ready for you.”

Tapping a ringed hand against the cup, he took an appreciative sip and set it aside. “What did you need to speak to me about?”

“First, to introduce Ellother to you. Second, to arrange for regularly selling materials from the Beastlands, and last, I’ve some materials taken from an old Dragon Turtle to get assessed and auctioned.”

Dunlan stops his immediate question and takes them in order. “What volume of materials are we talking about?”

“There will be an increasing number of teams involved, but we’ve already over two hundred kilograms of assorted meat, hide, and herbs. I was hoping Gildenshield would be interested, so I didn’t have to go further afield,” I admit.

“Do you have samples with you?”

“Some, but the quality will vary as there are various experience levels involved in the gathering,”

“I assume Ellother will be our regular contact, and this is separate from your mother’s and aunt’s arrangements?” asks Dunlan.

My nod has him tapping the table thoughtfully, his fingers drawing a regular drumbeat from the stone. Though he is as polished as the stone, his strength causes the table to twitch from each impact.

“Seven per cent auction commission and one and a half per cent assessment fee,” offers Dunlan.

“A flat assessment fee based on the assessor and five per cent commission,” I counter.

It takes a while to haggle out the details, and when we finally shake hands, his gaze still gleams far too much. That and the lack of frown lines that I’ve seen others cause him confirms I need more practice haggling. I’m happy I managed to eliminate the variable assessment fee.

“Shall we go look at your Dragon Turtle materials?”

“We need a lot of space,” I caution him.

Dunlan led the way from the room. “Given you said old, I assumed as much.”

The mass of materials, including the intact shell, has Dunlan whistling in appreciation before he sets to work. By the time Dunlan looks over everything, it's already getting late, and we’ve barely enough time to sort out a separate account for Sanctuary—one for both myself and Ellother to access. Amusingly, if the auction comes in as he expects, my personal account will be—by far—the smaller of the two. Mother's tasks keep her from joining us, but perhaps that's just as well; even now, I've not completely escaped her long shadow. Maybe later I'll need to travel where mother's worshipers aren't known.

When my stomach issues a loud complaint, Dunlan grins and motions towards the main doors of the auction house. “We could continue discussing auction options after a meal if you’d care to join me,” offers Dunlan. “There is a nice eatery at the passage turn.”

The next hungry gurgle echoes up my throat, and I slap a hand across my mouth.

Once the noise finishes, I give him a sheepish smile. “As much as I’d enjoy that, I have guests I need to tend to.”

My admission gets an understanding nod. “It's important to properly take care of those to whom you’ve granted guest rights.”

Ellother makes a soft enquiry. “Pardon my ignorance Master Gildenshield, but what do the dwarves do to those who haven’t been granted guests rights and join a feast?”

“Lock them up as thieves, of course; what else would you do to one who stole from another?” snorts Dunlan. “I’ll inform Gail if I find someone willing to tutor you, Steward Ellother.”

“Thank you, Master Dunlan, but please just call me Ellother; Gailneth uses no title, so I feel I shouldn’t either.”

“That would be a good choice,” Dunlan remarks, and he gives us both a nod farewell, the politest gesture I’ve seen given to Ellother so far.

The return trip to the exit earns Ellother some stern glares and grumbled words, and with many that don’t know me, I share in their suspicion. When we’re clear of the main gate, I focus Resonance ahead and fix the light on my belt. “Perhaps it wasn’t the best of ideas to bring you to Duskstone.”

“I'll gratefully endure sharp words and angry looks; I need to fulfil my duties and I might learn the history of what happened,” replies Ellother. “You didn’t get a chance to speak to your mother.”

“I heard from her. She’s busy discussing matters with Moradin’s servants and meeting my aunt to plan something. I’ve given her the details of Sanctuary and since I live in a Demi-Plane now she’ll be able to visit,” I sigh. “It’s odd, I set off on this wanting to get out from under my family’s shadow. So far, I’ve not succeeded very well, and I miss them far more than I expected. I can't help but wonder if my auntie Am designed it so my family could just come by for a visit.”

Getting outside Duskstone’s wards, I open a Gate directly to the Demi-Plane and wave Ellother in ahead of me. Stepping through puts us in the foyer, and though I thought we’d be well and truly late, it was obvious my stomach had sounded the alarm early. The last of my reduced guest count—under a score—is entering the hall, and no one looks put out.

Sarah is standing calmly in the area in front of the head table, its raised position letting me see her. Her dress covers from neck to ankle, and although it’s so tight it looks painted on, it's not even vaguely transparent. Hands primly interlaced in front of her, Sarah directs their attention my way.

“I’m going to teleport us rather than make them wait,” I warn Ellother and wait until she nods before I place us beside Sarah.

“Good evening, Gail. Some were just wondering if you’d returned.”

“Matters took longer than I’d hoped,” I admit and consider suggesting the smaller dining hall but set that idea aside. It’s a room I want to keep for the team, and it might be slightly too small unless we squeeze in. “Let’s encircle the head table with chairs this evening so we can talk properly.”

Sarah shrugs, and though she doesn’t move, I hear her Telekinesis reaching out. She repositions the chairs presently at the head table closer together before teleporting others into position.

“Sarah, should I see about tying the enchantment to you as well, in case I’m late?”

“You can try, but I’d make sure it reacts to me using the chair to your left, not yours,” advises Sarah.

Eyeing the position sceptically, I shrug. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Once everyone has sat, I activate the enchantment, and the tables fill with platters that give plenty of summery options. Among those that gather at the table, I see Lord Mallen stayed on instead of Calinion.

“I’ll admit I’ve got much to learn about the current Andúnë situation, so I hoped you could tell me something about your home cities or townships over dinner.”

“What would you like to learn?”

“Everything, but let's start with something pleasant. Like the activities you engage in or the local places that you enjoy? Eateries, scenic spots, auditoriums, or even the best training coach?”

“The upper walkways of Inziladûn provide a magnificent view of the canopy, especially when the sun is dipping below the mountains, the colours make the forest come alive,” offers Mallen. “It's a city I don’t have time to linger in often enough, but Lord Litthor could tell you more.”

“I’m not there as often as I would like either, but I agree it's a splendid view,” comments Litthor, and his voice gains an acidic edge. “Though I would have thought you would favour the court of challengers, Lord Mallen. To my recollection, every time I’ve heard of your presence in Inziladûn, you’ve attended at least once.”

“One must stand beside one's friends in good times and bad,” Mallen says, offering a depreciating shrug.

Daerchon reaches for his glass. “Or their wives?”

“The family of a friend is equally deserving of protection,” agrees Mallen, lifting his glass to check the colour. “I’m not familiar with a vintage or this colouration. Does your table serve food from other worlds, or just the planes?”

“They brew the pale green wine from desert cacti; some find it fiery,” I explain, motioning to some sauce-covered dishes. “Those white-sauce fish dishes calm the mouth down if it grows too much.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, but I enjoy spicy food.”

“Or anything else exotic?” asks Aerneth from further along the table, and though my attention stays on Mallen, I feel her warning glance.

“Exploring unknown places is one of life’s great joys. Unfortunately, all too soon, it becomes mundane,” sighs Mallen.

“My father has many saying about the difficulty of learning new things, but I don’t believe that's what you’re referring to, Mallen.”

Mallen flashes me a smile and takes a careful sip of the wine, rolling it around in his mouth before he swallows it carefully. “It doesn’t take much to bring out the warmth.”

“The desert nights are freezing, so they enjoy food, wine, and entertainment that stimulates the body,” I admit, and Sarah taps my leg under the table.

“A vigorous people?” asks Mallan, neither his expression and tone studiously polite.

“Extremely robust. They go cave diving in caverns beneath the desert to find the fish,” I explain, taking a generous serving.

“If these dishes are from another world, are they safe for us?” asks Rúcinion, his tone quiet compared to the first night’s discussions.

“The enchantments draw suitable dishes from my memories. There is an adaptation aspect to the wards to prevent issues with allergies or anything more severe. However, that doesn’t account for personal tastes, so let me know if you find the dishes undesirable, and I’ll happily create something more familiar.”

Nodding, he adds small samples from the surrounding platters, and the rest copy his example.

The rest of the evening conversation doesn’t get as saucy as Mallen’s suggestive openings. I pick up dozens of places to investigate, though they are all in regional capitals. When the mealtime discussion goes into the representative meeting time, Aerneth suggests we continue the last evening conversation.

The speed with which the others agree leaves me questioning if I’m giving things away with my enquiries about their homes or if they’re just pandering to me. However, the time at the table lets me figure out how to attune it to Sarah’s presence—so that’s a win.

Despite the late night, I get my reverie and a couple of hours of harp practice, and still make it to Zosime’s before dawn. With no one awake, I let myself inside and start cooking breakfast.

As Nikias emerges from his room, he lets out a bone-cracking yawn before he pads downstairs, dressed in only pants,  still bleary-eyed from sleep. The muscularity his Class selection added displays only slightly more definition from his extra levels. Halfway down the stairs, he realises I’m stirring the porridge and freezes.

Seeing Nikias' look of surprise, I give him a rueful smile. “Sorry, I didn’t get by yesterday between dealing with the elves and the auction house for the Dragon Turtle parts; it was a busy day.”

“Them being sent on their way and the gift of apology to the village was all anyone would talk about yesterday. Heard some folks gossiping that you're some sort of exiled princess, or rich merchant slumming it, that the elves want to pander to,” offers Nikias. “I told them what you told us. Your ability is pretty unique, so they’re wanting to suck up to you and lure you to their kingdom.”

Laughing, I tap the side of my nose. “Spot on, they’re all trying to be so impressive. How were your training sessions with Nanoĸ and Ipy?”

“Nanoĸ’s training is fiercer now compared to last week,” sighs Nikias, and he passes the bowl from the top of the stack.

“It’s still cooking, goose; sit down,” I say, and taking the bowl from him, I set it away from the firepit. “He knows you’re capable of more, so he’s driving you hard.”

“He spent yesterday afternoon making me focus on protecting Myrto in your place. Every time he got a touch, it counted as a kill,” explains Nikias, and he slumps to the ground more than sits, the firelight showing purpling bruises along his ribs. “If it had been real, you would have died a lot.”

“Well, three things: it wasn’t real, I’d be harder to touch than Myrto, and I won’t die that easily. So while you shouldn’t become dejected, it gives you a place to assess your progress.”

Nikias nods and muffles another yawn with the back of his hand. “Ipy said something similar. I’m not dejected so much as feeling pulverised.”

“Words aren’t a comfort when you feel bruised from head to toe?” I ask.

“Not one bit,” mutters Nikias. “But I’ve not bruised everywhere; my toes mostly feel intact.”

“I could be mean and speed up your healing,” I offer.

Nikias looks at me in surprise. “How is that mean? These bruises hurt, and every muscle aches.”

“Because then Nanoĸ and Ipy will repeat yesterday instead of taking it easy today,” Phile says from the top of the stairs, gleefully skipping down them. “Gail’s back! I thought we wouldn’t see you until all your guests departed or Nikias’ skills had caught up.”

“I worked out how to adjust the hall’s enchantment; now Sarah or Ellother can deal at least with the breakfast fun.”

Phile eyebrows lift. “Ellother?”

“Sarah won’t manage the hall forever, so she’s hired one of my guests to train into the role and also manage the finances of Sanctuary in general. The children’s lessons will need more materials eventually, keeping track of how much capacity there is in the training hall, the fun stuff.”

“And you still have guests, so you have to play host?” enquires Phile, her voice dripping in disappointment.

“Very true, but only a score of them. Part of the reason I adjusted the hall was so I no longer have my foot nailed to the ground playing host. The flatbread looks ready, but what else do people want?” I ask, lifting my voice so Zosime, exiting her room, could hear the question.

“There is a fresh round of cheese; I’ll do the cutting,” chirps Phile, giving me a smile that’s far too happy to be about cheese. “What do you have planned for the day?”

“I thought I’d check with the village elders to see if they want the apologies from the elves to cover roads or something else. I was also planning to set up some beacons so the children can get to and from lessons faster.”

Phile freezes with her hand in the pantry cupboard and looks back over her shoulder, blinking owlishly. “You’re going to do what?”

“Teleport beacons, but maybe open gateways will be better; many find them less jarring. I want to make it simple for them to get even an hour or two of education each day,” I explain and offer a smile at Phile’s shocked look. “Too much?”

“Some people will think so,” cautions Phile. “I’ve travelled widely and not known any city or town with gates to move around them quickly.”

“It also helps the village in general. If someone needs a healer, you could duck through the nearest portal and be at either Temple faster.”

Turning the corner towards the stairs, Zosime waves from the balcony. “Good morning Gail.”

“Morning, Zosime. I hope you slept well.”