Now Baigar put his tools on one side and nosed his way forward. “What have you got there?”
“A Trovegold novelty.” Fidelgar stroked the edges of the little box, opened the clasps and lifted the lid with care. The smell of spices and brandy wafted out. Baigar saw some brown objects inside that were about the size and shape of a finger. “Smoke rolls.”
“From Trovegold? The city where the freelings live?”
“Exactly. One of their traders passed through. I just had to buy some.” He took a smoke roll out and held it out to Baigar. “Rolled tobacco leaves stored in spices. Or maybe they put the spices in.”
As Baigar sniffed at the smoke roll his beard braids slid back down over his chest. “So you cut a bit off and stick it in your pipe?”
“No. You don’t need a pipe. The freelings have thought up something to save time.” Fidelgar stood up, went over to the forge and used the tongs to extract a red-hot coal. He put one end of the smoke roll in his mouth and held the other end to the glowing coal. There was a hissing sound as the tobacco caught. “Then you drag on it like with a pipe,” he explained indistinctly. Several quick puffs and he was closing his eyes in pleasure. It smelled good, like vanilla and honey and some other aromas he could not name.
“That looks like a great idea.” Baigar took a roll out and copied what the other dwarf had done. The smoke was stronger-tasting, and hotter, than what he was used to from his pipe. And the effect was more powerful. His head was spinning. “I would never have thought that trading with the freelings would bring us so many advantages.” He waved the glowing smoke roll in the air. “And I don’t just mean this thing here. What about gugul meat? And then their herbs are really useful, I’m told.”
Fidelgar moved his smoke roll to the side of his mouth and opened the flask, pouring a clear liquid into the two beakers. “And they have this Trovegold goldwater. It’s a liquor with flakes of gold in it.” He nodded encouragingly. “Tastes great.”
“Flakes of gold? In liquor?” Baigar sipped at it, trying out the thin flakes on his tongue. “Tastes like…” He smacked his lips as he searched for the right word. “Gold… Nothing else can describe that exquisite taste.” He gave a contented sigh. “Incredible. I can feel it coursing through me; the tiredness is disappearing and my mood is lifting. Seems like a miracle cure.”
“The gold or the alcohol?” Fidelgar grinned. “They can adapt the taste according to which spirits you have and what type of gold you use. You can’t get nearer to gold than that, now can you?” He took another mouthful of it and pulled on the smoke roll again. He took a look around. “Incredible how peaceful everything is.”
Baigar puffed away and tried making smoke rings. “Sure about that? No rock gnomes?”
“Would I be sitting here smoking?” Fidelgar glanced at the broken wagon Baigar had been working at. “Why bother mending the cars if we don’t use the tunnels anymore?”
“You never know,” replied Baigar. “And anyway, we do use them. We send out the building squads in them to do repairs. And why do you do your guard rounds if there are no monsters left in Girdlegard?”
“Because you never know,” laughed Fidelgar. He pointed to the four tunnels the rails ran into. “It’s a shame. Just when our dwarf folks are united, these underground networks are still lying useless. Curse that earthquake the Judgment Star caused.”
“Never fear. Vraccas is on our side.” Baigar shook his head. “We’re getting round to mending the main tracks. Just yesterday one of the gangs managed to clear a good half-mile of tunnel.” He sighed. “The rubble is just the half of it. It’s an enormous job renewing the rails that were damaged in the rockfalls. Some of the rails have to be forged new on site.” He pointed over to the wagon. “If you have rails that are bent like that then the axles get out of shape. That’s happening all the time when the work squads use them. All means more work for me.”
“Those were the days when you could travel from one dwarf kingdom to another in the blink of an eye,” enthused Fidelgar, sending up a perfect smoke ring. He apparently had had a lot more practice at this than Baigar. “The cars would fly along the rails and the wind would whistle in your hair and beard and tickle your stomach.”
“So you traveled that way?” asked the astonished Baigar.
“Yes, I was there when Queen Xamtys II left for the secondling kingdom and we fought Nod’onn’s hordes. That was a battle!” He blew at the glowing tip of the smoke roll so that the tobacco would not go out. “I can see it as if it were yesterday, how we-”
Baigar raised his hand abruptly. “Hush!” He listened at the black tunnel entrances. “Thought I heard something.” He removed his smoke roll and put it on the stone table.
“Could be. The work gang must still be out and-”
They heard a terrible scream coming from the furthest left of the four tunnels.
Fidelgar recognized the sound of death. A dwarf had that moment died. Then came the second scream, followed by cries of panic. “Come with me!” He jammed the smoke roll in the side of his mouth. It had been expensive and he did not want to let it go to waste. Hastily he grabbed his shield and ax and strode over to the tunnels.
Baigar took up his bag of tools and two flaming torches and ran after Fidelgar. In the old days he would have immediately thought of an orc attack, but now he assumed there must have been an accident.
They both ran into the straight passageway meant to let the wagons brake safely before reaching the halls at the end of their journey.
The shouts were getting nearer, and the rattlings and clankings of machinery could be heard. It sounded to Baigar like winding gear running, cogwheels spinning and then the dwarves’ stone-mill grinding. But he had never heard all those sounds at the same time before now.
Ahead they discerned a glow of light, in the middle of which a monstrous creature was rearing up, completely blocking the tunnel. It was whirling its many shining claws and bronze-colored arms, while the dwarves of the work gang were desperately attempting to hold it back. But their picks had not the slightest effect on the skin of this monster, and the handles broke like matchwood.
Every time a claw hit home there was a bloodcurdling scream from the victim. Dwarves flew through the air to lie motionless on the passage floor.
“Vraccas, help us! What on earth is this?” Horrified, Fidelgar had to watch as a hideous claw penetrated one dwarf, exiting on the other side of his body; then the arm was withdrawn, pulling the quivering prey close enough to reach with another set of claws. The living dwarf was quartered as he lay and torn to shreds.
Only one of the work squad was still alive, and badly injured, lying groaning on the ground, trying to crawl to safety. Meanwhile the monster made its way forward.
“We must help him,” said Baigar, running to the injured dwarf. Fidelgar had no hesitation in following.
As the pair approached the monster they realized their error. This was not some creature of flesh and blood but a diamond-shaped thing advancing, point foremost.
Its skin was a covering of riveted armour plating. The arms, a good two paces in length, were made of metal, too, ending in blades and toothed claws, which were grabbing and snapping shut randomly. They could not see the monster’s means of locomotion. Below, there was a metal skirt protecting the mechanism from attack.
“This is not a living beast,” cried Baigar in horror, staring at the victims’ blood that dripped from the claws and coated the metal surfaces. He could make out runes on the plating, and their meaning sent shudders through him. He needed to get out alive to report to his queen.
“Mind out!” Fidelgar pulled him back by the sleeve, so that a grabbing claw missed him by a beard-hair’s breadth. He stumbled backwards. “We need to get out. Here, take hold.” The two dwarves lifted the injured man up and helped him along.