HankTheMoose
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4.33 The Duergar Capital
🕑 Added 2025-08-15 21:55:39 +0000 UTCI'm debating putting Jori's scene second in this chapter, because the ending hits better for a chapter ending, but I haven't decided yet. Subject to change, feel free to weigh in.
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“We have some… news,” Ed began as Jori stepped out of the summoning circle. They weren’t in the Underkeepers’ headquarters or in Iriala’s office like usual. The air smelled slightly damp, and there were no windows. Both of the great mages were sitting at a low table standing in the corner of the room and they looked exhausted. The imp narrowed her eyes in suspicion. If they were both just sitting there, who had conducted the summoning ritual? She turned around to find Radast still gently waving a bundle of herbs and chanting softly to himself.
Jori scowled at him and hissed softly. This was the Solicitors’ Office, one of their basement summoning rooms. The warlock’s shadow squirmed in response. It was mocking her, she was sure.
She’d suspected something might be wrong – they’d missed their last scheduled summoning. That, and she hadn’t heard from Bernt in too long – not since before the Conclave had started. Normally, he would reach out at least once a week, but he hadn’t. She supposed the Conclave itself might have something to do with it, but nothing he’d said last time suggested that he wouldn’t be able to reach her.
“What happened?” she demanded. “And why him, and here?”
Solicitor Radast scoffed. “The better question would be why I wasn’t here for all your many previous summonings.” He emphasized the last part, turning to glare at the two archmages, neither of whom looked in any way repentant.
Good.
“Josie sent us a message that your case got thrown out,” Ed said, ignoring the warlock. “By the sound of it, the magistrate threw you under the cart for political reasons – some nonsense business with a Madzhuri priest at that Conclave, or something.” He chuckled ruefully, and scratched his balding scalp. “I suppose congratulations are in order. You really are an underkeeper now. Hells, that might be even better than my own story.”
Iriala glared at him. “That is not what happened. Someone leaked our proposal to the public, and Madzhur is pressuring our nobles to take a harder stance against demons. The magistrate in Teres is trying to cover his ass. And he didn’t throw out the petition, just your original case. The real problem is about contract enforcement. They’ve essentially said that you don’t have the right to bring grievances before the government. So, they might still try to offer you a deal – they just most likely won’t hold up their end.”
“What?” Jori hissed angrily. “Why? I offered them a great deal!”
Radast finally extinguished his bundle of stinky herbs and took a seat with a soft sigh. “Maybe one of the temples managed to convince the king or the magistrate into scrapping the idea. Or maybe they’re afraid of Madzhur, or they just want to buy a little time. You’re famous now. If they’d publicly agreed to work with you, it might have turned quite a few more moderate voices against us.”
“Why is he here?” Jori asked the archmages again. She didn’t like Radast, and she didn’t like that he was here. He was polite and kept to his word, which was good, but he was always so unfriendly and his shade gave her the shivers.
Iriala picked a piece of paper off of the table and held it up.
“It was Solicitor Josie’s idea. She pointed out quite rightly that the magistrate could have simply denied our petition – but he didn’t. That, and the reasoning he used to throw out your original case tacitly sanctioned the work you’ve been doing in the hells as legitimate Underkeepers’ business. That’s something we can work with, assuming we can still get your cooperation to do it. We assume, of course, that you wouldn’t agree to a contract that can’t be enforced?”
“Of course not!” Jori scoffed indignantly. She could, of course, enforce it herself by refusing to return people from the hells until they cooperated, but that would ruin her relationships with everyone here and probably make her a lot of enemies. There was no way she’d be able to just return home after something like that. It would ruin everything!
“We assumed as much. To that end, we’re here to make you an offer – one for which we need Solicitor Radast.”
Jori looked up at Radast uneasily. “What do you mean?”
The warlock reached into his sleeve and pulled out a rolled up piece of paper, which he handed her without preamble.
“You and anyone working under your authority will be bound to work in good faith with the Halfbridge Order of Underkeepers as well as anyone associated with them or their projects. You will execute the project as before on your end, the details are right here. In exchange, you’ll receive supplies as stipulated here, and be tolerated on the material plane with a qualified solicitor as an escort during times when your services are not required. The contract can be voided by either party, and will be considered null if you ascend to a higher class. Do not transform again if you want to spend time here.”
She opened it up to find a beautifully designed contract written in demonic sigils. It was unnecessarily shaped into a nine-pointed star in a circle, but its intent was clear. Enforcement would be handled by the Underkeepers, Jori’s employer. She stopped, frowning in confusion.
Shouldn’t the Underkeepers be party to this agreement? This said they, specifically Ed, would play the role of designated arbiter instead. How did that make sense?
“Why is this written as an agreement with you?”
Radast sniffed. “Extra-dimensional traffic, most particularly involving demons, is still my purview here. I am responsible for what you do in Halfbridge – or at least I’ll be held responsible. Besides, you’ll need me and my people for this. Do you have any idea how reckless it was of you to run around assassinating a class four demon in the heart of Varadon without the expertise of a single warlock to support you?!”
“He’s just salty because it’s never been done before, and because he missed it,” Ed said wryly, though his expression quickly dropped into his customary scowl. “But he’s right. Without official military support, we do need him and the solicitors in general. They know more about fighting demons than any of us, and they’ve been gathering the names of enemy demons, including several of Nuros’ other lieutenants, for months. That and neither of us actually have any legal authority to allow you to be here.”
Jori looked over at Iriala, who nodded seriously. Her demons had been raiding other soul-poor territories for weeks – several of which turned out to have been held by demons near the bottom end of Nuros’ hierarchy. She’d gathered quite a few names of her own, though she supposed there was no guarantee that she knew as much as the solicitors. And Ed was right. Without the government’s support, she did need his cooperation to legitimize any deal they made that would allow her to even visit the material plane.
“So,” Solicitor Radast said with an insufferable smile. “are you ready to start a war in the hells?”
***
The streets of Highstone were anticlimactically calm after the dragon incident – this was apparently a common sight here. And, after a few minutes, the excitement on the balcony died down too. There was only so much to speculate over with no one present to ask, and the only Duergar in attendance were the servants, none of whom spoke a word of Beseri or anything similar enough to understand.
Bernt, Nirlig, Ina and Elyn played dice as Xul’evareg napped in her chair. Meanwhile, Estrid studied wards in her notebook, occasionally stopping to ask Bernt a question about the rune sequencing in one type of basic ward or another.
When the door opened nearly an hour later and the mages stepped through, everyone stopped and looked up in anticipation, eager for an update. All except Xul’evareg, who was asleep.
“Good news!” Jesra declared with a note of triumph in her voice. “We’ve been invited to present ourselves to the imperial council at the Seat of Molten Stone.”
***
Bernt stared in wonder at a new world as it rushed by him on the other side of the glass. He was hurtling along in a strange sort of cart that ran on steel rails, weaving through tight tunnels, massive caverns and the occasional Duergar city. They’d seen three so far, and Bernt didn’t think they’d been on this “train” for much more than two hours. He’d thought that Highstone – the city where they’d met ambassador Taresh – was an impressive feat of geomancy, architectural skill and probably some extensive enchanting work. Now, though, he realized just how run down the place must feel to the Duergar.
Their real cities were masterworks of stone, steel and glass, even if there was rarely much to see, considering you could only ever see them from inside. Almost. He caught a glimpse of glittering glass towers as they shot through a natural-looking cavern, before the sight was obscured by narrow tunnel walls that quickly gave way to an enormous hall bustling with thousands of Duergar. Multiple other tracks joined and ran parallel to theirs for a few seconds before disappearing behind long raised platforms on either side of the rail. On one side, Duergar workers climbed in and out of passenger cars while on the other, massive machines loaded and unloaded crates, bins and sacks of goods from the freight cars behind. In fact, the only people he saw doing any kind of manual work was a team of Duergar carving what might have been wards into an odd, reddish crystal obelisk a few platforms over.
Bernt knew what artificery was – the dwarves had introduced it to Besermark over two centuries ago – but these machines were something far beyond anything he’d ever heard of. They did the jobs of entire teams of porters in minutes, and the train itself had to be moving hundreds of people alongside an entire seagoing ship’s worth of goods.
“How do they work?” he wondered out loud, watching a massive crane lift an enormous metal container of ore onto a flat, wheeled bed up ahead. They were sitting at the very back of the train in the ambassador’s private car – an ostentatiously gilded metal construction with enormous windows that wrapped around the entire thing, no doubt to better impress the wealth and power of the Duergar Empire on visiting dignitaries.
To his surprise, the ambassador, who’d been politely chatting with Magister Jesra, turned in his overstuffed, throne-like seat to offer him an answer.
“It is pressure,” he explained in his strange, archaic speech, pointing to the large, rounded metal casing at the back of the machine. “The breath of the phoenix does condense and revolatilize at intervals well-ordered. Harnessed to labor with the proper care, efficiency and sharpness of mind, its potential is beyond limit.”
Bernt squinted at the man, working through the odd grammar and choice of words, then his eyed widened. “The burning rain? You can use it for artificery? How? Wait, where do you get it? Do you go out onto the surface?”
The ambassador looked over at Jesra, who raised a warning eyebrow at Bernt before rewording the question for him. Taresh stroked his braided white beard and chuckled politely before responding in Duergar. She nodded her head sideways, making a noncommittal sort of noise before bringing the conversation back to their previous topic of conversation – something about trade with the Madurian Empire.
Taking that for the dismissal it was Bernt turned back to the others. Their group was sitting on a padded bench that ran along the walls of the car around a small table that had been affixed to the floor. The others were taking in the sight of the enormous transit center with wonder. Even Xul’evareg was leaning in close to the window to get a better look at the giant machines. The only exception was Elyn, who looked no more impressed by this place than any city in Besermark. It made Bernt wonder what sorts of places she might have seen in her life.
The ambassador’s retinue sat at a similar setup near the back of the car and kept to themselves. Bernt wasn’t sure why that was, but he assumed none of them could speak Beseri – or anything close enough to understand.
The train car began to move again, disconnecting from the train and heading back the way they’d come. As far as Bernt could tell, it was moving under its own power, just as those loading machines had. They passed back through the tunnel and into the open cavern, where the track split, taking them on a looping upward path to the very top of a massive glass-clad tower that was set directly against the cavern wall. Smaller towers rose around it, connected to each other by bridges that transitioned into tunnels as they met the natural stone all around. The entire place was dimly lit by natural light crystals set high into the ceiling, making it possible for some specialized plants to grow here – unfamiliar black and purple flowers, a yellowish moss, and some sort of leafy vine.
The beautifully illuminated cavern, Bernt guessed, would be host to the more expensive real estate here, with the bulk of the city carved directly into the rock beyond. How much would a home with a view be worth to an underground civilization?
The enormous tower’s roof, if it could be called that, was a garden complete with green, flowering surface plants, a waterfall feature and a mushroom garden. The entire structure looked like an extension of the natural stone of the cavern and transitioned smoothly onto a ledge large enough to support several other structures. The illusion was betrayed only by the enormous metal support beams that rose all the way up to the cavern ceiling to stabilize the massive building.
This was very obviously not a place accessible to the public. A few expensively dressed Duergar wandering the garden paths watched them curiously as they stepped out onto a small, private platform, barely as long as the train car itself and the engine pulling it. A younger-looking Duergar with a short beard and heavy gold earrings elbowed an older woman beside him and pointed.
“Mahati! Mahati!”
The older woman clucked at him disapprovingly and smacked his shoulder, but he didn’t seem to care. When he caught Bernt looking, the Duergar man grinned broadly and waved.
Ambassador Taresh ignored the onlookers and turned to his guests, gesturing at the city around them.
“Welcome, my guests, to Kostrom, home of the Seat of Molten Stone.”
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