Viva La Revolución! [End of Arc II]

The Thingolt Hall trembled.

Dozens of Thanes sat on raised benches, clothed in fine robes and adorned with gold, trading proposals about the king’s election.

Their voices echoed like a squabble among old vultures as they spoke of stability, of trade, of markets.

But from the lower benches the people rose, at first scattered, then in growing numbers.

“You talk about stability? We don’t even have enough Leyrunit to keep our hearths warm! Let alone enough to eat!” someone shouted.

“Down with the Thanes!” another bellowed.

The Thanes tried to preserve their composure.

“Silence!” one of them snapped. “We deliberate by the laws of our ancestors and...”

“Your laws mean nothing if our children are cold and hungry!” a dwarf woman shouted, her fists clenched.

A roar of approval answered her and a banner was unfurled, smeared with red paint: 

“Freedom for Ironmaw!”

The guards at the edges pulled their helmets down as a captain barked orders, but his voice was swallowed by the din.

Bromor stood in the middle of it all, eyes wide. 

An aged Thane rose, face flushed, voice cracking: “Enough! Anyone who continues this unrest will be prosecuted...”

First a clay jug arced through the air, then another, then all sorts of things.

A riot erupted.

“By the beards of my forefathers… Have you lost your minds?!” Bromor muttered as he tried to push his way through the boiling crowd toward the exit.

But there was no getting through.

---

Meanwhile, in another part of the city, Gus shoved his Golf down a narrow side alley until he came to a stop in front of a soot-darkened workshop door.

“That's gotta be it!” Lis chirped from the hood, waving Bromor’s scrap of paper.

A sign read: Schmalzbeard’s Precision Mechanics & Leyrunit Repairs.

The metal gate yanked open and out stepped a burly dwarf in oil-stained overalls, wearing a welding helmet and a wrench in his hand.

“A human and a… hobbit!? What in the ancestors names are you doing here? Don’t you fools know what’s happening outside?” he barked.

Gus threw his arms out wide with a crooked grin.

“Yo, I’m here for Pimp My Ride. You the guy? Gonna slap a hot tub in my Golf?”

He wheezed through his own laughter, then straightened up, voice dropping into mock seriousness.

“Just kidding. My mate Bromor sent us. Said you might take a look at my car, and a few other things that are basically on life support...”

The dwarf’s dark eyes twinkled. “Bromor, eh? The old dog’s here too? Hrrm…" He rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "We’re short on work these days. Can you pay?” 

Gus shot both thumbs up; Lis copied him.

“Of course, old man. Our cash cow might be elsewhere right now, but we can pay!”

The dwarf grinned. “Right, then. Let’s see this machine. Name’s Schmalzbeard.”

He yelled into the shop: “Girls! Clear a bay, we’ve got customers!”

Lis peered into the workshop, which was one glorious mess. 

Half-disassembled engines dangling from the rafters, dwarfesses tugged tool-carts, and the smell of hot metal filled the air as they shoved the Golf inside.

“Interesting contraption,” Schmalzbeard grunted. “Built by human hands? How does it run?”

Gus scratched his head. “Diesel. And that’s the problem... there’s no diesel in this world. Uhm, I mean, on this continent…”

Schmalzbeard stroked his beard, muttering. “New drive, then… hrmm. Could be done, could be costly.”

He suddenly clapped his hands, sparks glinting in his eyes. “All right! I’ll give it a go. But it won’t be quick, mind ye.”

Gus just gave a crooked nod,  while Lis had already drifted over to the dwarfesses, peering shamelessly over their shoulders as they started working.

---

Meanwhile, Marcus and Caeriel were still wandering the city like lost tourists.

“Tch, this is impossible! Either closed or booked up. Is there not a single free room in this whole city?” Caeriel complained, annoyed.

“Let’s try up there, we haven’t been yet!” Marcus suggested.

The higher they climbed, the richer the streets grew. 

No more graffiti, only polished stone arches and gaudy facades, where guards in full armor marched their patrols, hands tight on their weapons.

Finally they stopped in front of a hulking building with gilded doors, flanked by well-groomed dwarves in tailored uniforms. 

A sign proclaimed: Grand Royal Dwarvenhall. 

Below it: Rooms Available.

“Uhm…yeahhh, maybe we should keep looking. Pretty sure I read a review that said the breakfast here is dogshit" Marcus said, nervously.

But Caeriel seized him by the collar before he could bolt and dragged him inside.

Two minutes later he stood at the reception counter, a pouch of coins in hand and a strained smile on his face as he booked the room.

“The Royal Apartment includes four bedrooms, two baths, and a panoramic view of the city. Enjoy your stay!” chirped the clerk.

Marcus took the keys with a sigh while Caeriel watched the staff. 

Porters had beads of sweat on their brows, servers rushed by, a messenger whispered nervously into the manager’s ear.

“…That's odd,” she murmured as Marcus stepped closer.

“Odd? No kidding! One hundred gold coins for a night. Per person! Now THAT'S Odd! I tell you, they’re ripping us off because we’re foreigners...”

“That’s not it, fool. Look around. They’re afraid.” Her gaze lingered on a porter with trembling hands. “Maybe your bad feeling earlier wasn’t so misplaced after all.”

Marcus crossed his arms, muttering: “You’re the only person I know who’ll say I was right and call me a fool in the same sentence.”

She ignored him and headed for the stairs, climbing on a velvet carpet toward the suite.

---

Back in Thingolt Hall the uproar became a frenzy.

Banners waved, boots thudded, hooded figures stormed in and clashed with the guards. 

Bromor tried to shove himself  toward a sidedoor exit.

“Let me through! By my forebears! I want no part of this!” he growled, pushing past countless shoulders, but the sweating mass swallowed him and he couldn't get out. 

A chair slammed into a guard’s helmet, the soldiers surged forward, clubs rained down, and screams tore through the hall, while the Thanes had already fled.

Bromor spotted the side door just a few strides away and relief sparked inside him.

But then it slammed open and more soldiers poured in.

“There, grab him!” one shouted. 

Rough hands seized him, dragging him down.

“Fools! I’m no rebel! I said I’m not...!”

The words cut off as a club hit his head.

Darkness closed in, and the last thing he heard, through the ringing in his ears, was:

“Take that traitor away.”

---

In Schmalzbeards workshop the dwarfesses busied themselves around the Golf while the old tinkerer peered at Gus’s phone.

“So… the thing needs power,” Gus explained, holding up his smartphone. “Like electricity, tamed lightning that runs through it.”

Schmalzbeard’s bushy brows knitted. “Tamed lightning? Explain yerself.”

“Uh… well, it’s kinda an invisible force that lives in things… and you can… uh…” Gus ran a hand through his hair. “Ah fuck, should’ve paid more attention in Physics.”

Lis grinned at his flustered attempt. “You say the funniest stuff. ‘Invisible force’, I could die laughing.”

Schmalzbeard tried to parse it for a while when a heavy, threatening knock sounded at the door.

“Open up in the name of the King!” boomed a voice outside.

Gus raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t sound like room service.”

Schmalzbeard growled, grabbed a hidden lever under his bench, and a secret hatch opened beneath their feet. “Let’s just say I’m not exactly popular with the rulers. Down, now!”

“Oh great, a criminal!” Gus muttered as they scrambled inside. “We bring the car in for a tune-up and turns out the mechanic’s on a fucking wanted list.”

The passage was tight and the air stale. Schmalzbeard pulled another lever, sealing the hatch, and they crouched shoulder to shoulder beneath the floorboards.

“Ow! Your elbow’s stabbing my ribs!” Lis complained.

“It’s not like I can do much, can barely move!” Gus shot back.

“Silence!” Schmalzbeard hissed, wedged between his two assistants.

Above, the workshop door banged open. 

Boots thundered in, soldiers cursed and smashed through the clutter, overturning benches, tearing drawers from their sockets. 

For long minutes they raged through the workshop.

At last, the door slammed shut, leaving only silence, and the hidden group dared to breathe again.

They crawled back up, dust clinging to their clothes and Gus fixed Schmalzbeard with a sharp look.

“All right, gramps. You gonna explain why the royal guard’s raiding your place like a fucking drug lab? Should I call you Heisenberger now?"

Schmalzbeard exhaled through his beard. 

“I should’ve told ye sooner. I'm part of the resistance. We aim to overthrow the king and the fat Thanes, burn their corrupt system to slag.”

Gus groaned, rubbing his face. “Oh great. So which are you, then? The People’s Front of Judea, or the Judean People’s Front?”

The dwarf blinked, baffled. “…Never heard o’ that. We call ourselves the Red Forge.”

Gus smirked. 

“Viva la Revolución, huh? Heh. Forget it. At least shit’s won't get boring.”

---

Meanwhile Marcus and Caeriel were testing out their rooftop suite at the Grand.

“Man,” Marcus sighed, flopping onto the wide bed. “Pricey as hell, but what a mattress. No rocks, no Bromor snoring like a saw...”

Caeriel, arms folded at the window, didn’t turn.

“Don’t enjoy it too much. Luxury dulls discipline.”

“Pff. Who dragged me in here kicking and screaming?” Marcus shot back.

“Only because everything else was full,” Caeriel snapped, her ears twitching.

A hesitant knock interrupted them and Marcus opened the door to find a jittery page staring up at him.

“Um… pardon, sir? Are you Marcus… the human?”

Marcus blinked. “Depends on whether I'm in trouble.”

“Finally! We’ve had letters for you for days and didn’t know where to put them…” 

The boy shoved a stack of envelopes into his arms and bolted down the hall.

Marcus dumped them onto the bed. “What the actual fuck…”

Every envelope bore a red wax seal, which Caeriel recognized immediately, as she leaned in. 

“That’s the crest of Haltharan’s royal house.”

Marcus’ gut twisted as he ripped the first one open.

> My sweet Marcus, Have you reached Ironmaw yet? Day and night I think only of you. Why do you leave me here in these cold halls? Do you know how empty my bed feels without you? Every hour without you is torment… Yours forever, Liriel ♥

Marcus’ face twisted. “Liriel!? How the hell does she know we’re here?”

Caeriel shrugged calmly. “You are her prince-consort. It’s not unreasonable she guessed you’d check into the fanciest place in town.”

He opened the next letter.

> You don’t write back. Why? Do you have someone else? Tell me you don’t! I couldn’t bear it, Marcus. I could NEVER bear it. If you ever betray me… I would—[CENSORED]

“Okaaay,” Marcus muttered, paling, “that escalated quickly.”

His hands shook as he tore into the last.

> Dearest, I feared for you so! A villain sent me a soul crystal of you from Tiraloa! I went there at once, but found no trace of you, only a vile beastman. But do not worry, I made him pay.

Marcus froze, ashen. “…Raukhar? And she made him... pay?”

He gulped as he read the rest of the letter.

> ...Do you know how I miss you?  Nights full of longing, days full of rage. I cannot wait. If you will not come to me… then I will come to you. I depart for Ironmaw. Wait for me, my love. I will always find you. Yours, Liriel ♥♥♥♥♥

The letter slipped from his hands. “…Oh fuck. We’ve got a problem.”

A crash of glass cut him off, and both spun to the window.

Outside the street erupted into noise: screams, shattering windows, the dull roar of a mob. 

Hundreds of torches danced through the quarter. 

A tide of angry figures swept the street, smashing shop windows and toppling statues.

“Tear them down! Down with the palaces!” The crowd swelled around the hotel; stones flew, torches flared. “Grab the rich! Down with the capitalists!”

Marcus stepped to the window, face pale. 

“…Say, Caeriel?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re royally screwed, aren’t we?”

For a moment neither of them spoke as they gazed outside.

Below, more and more torches lid up, surging like a sea of flames, fueled by anger and desperation, that had finally unleashed that day.

Marcus tightened his grip on the window frame. 

Everything they had done since getting transported from the Fantastical Fantasy Festival into this new world, every wrong turn, every foolish choice, seemed to have led them here:

To this city on the brink of a new era.

And he knew, there would be no easy escape this time.

                                                                        THE END