“We’re not soldiers for the king. We’re messengers for the king. We’ve been asked to bring Dagon a message and seek assistance?”
“Assistance for what?”
“That is for Dagon only.”
“Then what message? You give to me, I’ll see Dagon gets it.”
Brogan cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but I was told to give it directly to Dagon himself. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important. That trip up the mountain pass is not exactly a trip through the tulips, friend, so if you’d go inform Dagon we’re here, we can get on with it.”
The dwarf eyed him warily then rubbed a callused hand over his bearded chin. “Since I see no colors for His Majesty, how do I know you is who you say you is?”
Brogan reached into his bag and pulled out a rolled up parchment tied with ribbon and bearing the wax seal of the Royal House of Grayson. He showed it to the guard and said, “I have a message of urgent nature for Dagon, Clan Chief of the Dolmath Tribe, from King Dainard Llewelyn Grayson, High Ruler of Azlyn.” He showed the seal to the guard who eyed it, then looked back up to Brogan and said nothing. Brogan sighed. “Very well. King Dainard told me if I came across a stubborn oaf, then I was to give you a message to carry to Dagon so that he would know we are who we say we are and that we have come on his behalf.”
“Okay, what be the message?”
“Dagon still owes His Majesty seven silver pieces from the little problem he helped with six years ago. Now he’d be most willing to forget about it, but if we’re not allowed in to speak with Dagon, he’ll have to come up here himself and collect, and he gets extremely cranky when he has to travel. And when kings get cranky, people tend to lose their heads.” Brogan was smiling down at the dwarf, and a couple of the men in the group laughed. He didn’t mean it of course. Dain would never have Dagon killed because he refused to ally himself with him, but the guard didn’t know that.
It took a few more minutes for the guard to respond, but then he cleared his throat and said, “Wait here.”
He disappeared inside the gate, through the Petit-Porte on the left, and Brogan and his men were left to wait. The other guard had not moved or spoke, and he still did nothing to make conversation while his partner was gone. The wind was picking up, and Brogan could smell rain in the distance. He was eager to get inside the safety of the city.
A few minutes passed, then the echoing sound of wooden pulleys rang through the mountain pass, and the gates finally started to open. The guard who had left appeared again and motioned the party inside. He led them across an open courtyard to an archway built into the mountain itself.
“You’ll be required to dismount now. The horses be too tall with rider for ye to enter safely. There will be some lads to take yer mounts and get ‘em watered and fed. They will bring your belongin’s to the rooms you will be usin’ for the duration of your stay.”
Brogan nodded and dismounted. The other men followed suit. When they were all down, the guard led them under the archway and into the mountain. It took Brogan a long time to adjust his eyes to the gloom. Unlike the dwarves, he was unaccustomed to spending time in the dark. Dwarves had eyes like cats, able to see in the dark tunnels of the mines, and at great distance, but Brogan preferred the sunlight. The dank tunnels and musty smell of the mountain caves made him shiver. There were sconces on the walls every few footsteps that illuminated the halls just enough to be able to walk steadily and see the ground before you, but it was still too dark for Brogan’s taste, and a bit eerie. There were also stories of nasty creatures who lived inside the darkest hidden reaches of the tunnels, creatures that ate the flesh of the dead. Brogan shivered at the thought.
They walked a way down the hall, deeper into the mountain he would guess, before the guard stopped before a door. It was a large wooden double door, at least eight foot in height, and it was carved with a beautiful landscape scene. Brogan took the few moments he had before the door opened to study the artistry of the work. It was a depiction of a mountain range, with a wide valley between the peaks. There was a stream flowing down the mountain through the valley which ended up in a meadow lake. There were trees and flowers and even a few birds and butterflies scattered throughout the rendition. It was most impressive, as well as the massive door it was carved into.
The doors opened. Brogan turned to the men. “Bort is with me, the rest of you should stay out here, I think, until we know if all is well.”
The men nodded and stood outside in the hallway as Brogan and Bort followed the guard into the room, the doors closing behind them. This room was no less impressive than the door had been, but it was much brighter than the corridor was. Brogan blinked a few times to readjust his eyes to the light. It was an enormous cavern, with tall wooden beams holding the ceiling and carved wooden pillars going from the floor all the way to the roof. The floor was marbled, the walls paneled in a rich smelling wood. It was quite a difference from the natural tunnel that led them here. There were marble statues throughout the room, making a semi-circle around a dais at the front of the room. The statues were past clan leaders of the most powerful of the dwarf families. The statues were not large by man’s standards, about seven foot each, but, to a normal size dwarf, they were immense.