Letter to a Ruler

Following the earthy path, descending in circles along the crater, we head for the entrance of the underground village.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna try the zip line?” I glance back at Timoria. “We’d be at the bottom in no time.”

    All along the rocky walls, multiple ranges of rope are fixed on metallic bars protruding from the stone. A convenient way for whoever is too lazy or hurried to walk all the way down.

    Timoria glances at a Knocker who whizzes above our heads, holding firmly onto handles fixed on each side of the rope. He bypasses us in no time, soon reaching a lower level.

    She gulps.

“I… don’t think it’s a good idea.” She averts her gaze. “And what would we do with Awa?”

“Easy.” I show my hands, fidgeting my fingers as if kneading an invisible melon pan. “I have one hand to hold her, and another to hold the handle.”

    Sweat forms over Timoria’s face as she gets paler at the mere idea.

“W-w-walk!! Let’s walk!”

“Stop traumatising her.” Tyffeon sighs.

“Mmm, are you jealous?”

    He clicks his tongue but doesn’t reply per se. Coward…

    If we cross the path of a few carriages, they are definitely less numerous than what they should have been. Gnog Fontalamh suffers from the looming threat like the other kingdoms. The roads seem less safe, the fear grows in people’s hearts. Only weapons are still getting exported with a steady demand.

    A few Knockers walk back and forth, brawny and hairy. Each of them wears a studded helmet, metal stretching over their nose, to the back of their neck. None of them are completely identical to another.

“Watch out!” A gravelly voice shouts as a door opens from the rocky wall.

    Tyffeon extends his arm, holding us back as a Knocker steps out of his workshop, a barrel filled with swords and spears in the dwarf’s thick arms. He wears a long leather apron.

    The outside of the rift is mainly inhabited by blacksmiths and other craftsmen, their houses carved into the rock. It’s more convenient to export then their merchandise or to craft bigger inventions…

    As we finally reach the bottom, we approach the rift, waiting for our turn to take one of the cabins leading to the underground along a steady railway.

“These are all the minerals they have extracted?” Timoria glances in surprise as a shipment of precious stones is brought to the surface on a nearby lift.

“Indeed.” Tyffeon answers. “They spend all their days extracting them from the depths of the dungeon.”

“Here! Jump in, folks!” A Knocker gestures at us.

    Once the cabin is filled enough, the door is closed and the cabin begins to stir, sliding down the rope. Timoria holds onto me, not reassured, and I pat her head before taking a glance through the window.

    Underneath, numerous cottages. They are built out of stones gathered in a perfectly fitting puzzle. What the light from the outside can’t reach is compensated with perpetual torches scattered here and there. And, beyond the village of Toll Dubh, a sturdy castle and its numerous towers over a rocky knoll.

    A few rays of light filter through a smaller rift, giving the castle even more majesty.

***

    Inside the walls of the castle, a Knocker escorts us through the corridors. On either side, various accessories, armours, and accessories are exposed on pedestals finely sculpted in lapis lazuli.

“All of these are pieces crafted by our chiefs, and some of our most renowned folks.” The Knocker explains to me, having noticed my fascinated glances.

    I can’t help but look at his thick brown moustache wiggling with the moves of his lips, concealed by his not less thick beard.

“Impressive, that place is almost like a museum.”

“A museum?” The dwarf muses. “It’s what it has somehow become, the castle itself being part of it.”

“Huhh?” Timoria utters, confused.

“We built it a few centuries ago to train us, since we had an important order.” The Knocker redirects his eyes ahead of us as we enclose a huge door. “Before that, our ruler used to occupy a house of the village. But now…”

    He pauses to catch hold of the two doorknobs, pulling on them to open the double door. Inside the wide room, a few Knockers are standing in line, handing in turn a parchment to a dwarf with a generous red beard, two golden rings around thick strands of it.

“…our chief Gobha prefers to spend his time here where he examines the plans of our craftsmen, counselling them on some adjustments to make.”

    The moment he notices our presence, the ruler frowns, turning his citrine eyes towards us.

“Hold this for me.” He mutters to the dwarf standing near him, handing him back his parchment.

    As he takes a few steps in our direction, the Knocker who guided us steps aside.

“These folks wanted to see you, chief.”

    Gobha lifts his hand, signalling that he can leave. So he does. So we’re left face to face with a ruler seemingly not-so-fond of our presence.

“You… What are you doing here? Have you come to bring misfortune to Gnog Fontalamh, now?”

    If his prominent beard makes it challenging to put words on his shirt, he wears a kind of skirt of a thick brown fabric. A black pouch is clipped around his waist, adorned with a golden pin representing a hammer and pick crossed. Of course, like any Knocker, he has a studded helmet. A silver one carved with intricate patterns and lined with gold.

“We’ve just come to pay our respects to you, since we are visiting your kingdom.” I cautiously say, reaching my hand into my satchel to catch a letter I’ve put inside. The last thing Kitsune has entrusted me with. “We departed from Ard Ramalia a few days ago, and I had to give you this letter from their ruler.”

    Eyeing me suspiciously, Gobha takes hold of the letter, proceeding to open and unfold it.

    For a moment, he remains silent, his piercing eyes scanning the scented paper. Wincing a tad at the unwelcome fragrance.

    But then, as Timoria and Tyffeon exchange glances, a nerve contracts on the ruler’s forehead. Without further ado, he angrily scrunches the letter, grumbling in his beard.

“Take them to jail!! Take the Saintess and her companions to jail!” He calls, furious, pointing an ominous finger at us.

“Ehh-” I utter, widening my eyes.

“What.”

“Ehhhhhhh..?”

    Even the bubble inflating and deflating from Awa’s beak bursts. In no time, a group of dwarfs surround us.

***

    A grim room only lit up by the wavering light a torch projects on the corridor’s wall. A grim room devoid of any furniture worthy of being called so, black bars letting one catch a glimpse of liberty between the gaps.

    Standing by the cell’s door, I clutch the bars. Pretty annoyed.

    I knew that the rulers don’t hold me in high esteem, but how the hell the first thing I get to know in Toll Dubh is the humidity of its jail?

“What did that letter you gave him say?” Tyffeon asks, leant against the opposite wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

    I let out a blatant sigh.

“Do you think I am the type to read people’s correspondence?”

    An offending silence answers me.

“I don’t have a single idea about its content.” I turn to face Tyffeon, glancing at Timoria, huddled up on herself. “As far as I remember we didn’t leave on bad terms… so I can’t see why Kistune would have written anything to accuse us.”

“She wouldn’t have done something like that.” Timoria utters.

“Mmm…”

    I turn back to the bars of our cell, gripping them and pulling, pulling back and forth as if in a laughable hope to break them. It results, though, in just me shaking back and forth against the bars.

“Let me out! Let me oooout!!!!”

“Oi!” A strong voice calls. “Calm down there.”

    Frowning, the Knocker in charge of guarding the jail appears before the entrance, throwing the content of a bowl of water – at least I pretty hope it’s just water – on me.

    With a wince and a cough, I am reminded of how much these folks hate any unwanted noise troubling their underground kingdom.