Stepping back into the warm, artificially lit tunnel of Grimfang Deep felt like entering another dimension after the brutal, wind-scoured reality of the glacier. The secure thud of the Cog Gate sealing behind them echoed with a finality that was both reassuring and deeply confining. Lunrik leaned heavily against the tunnel wall, reaction setting in now that the immediate threat had passed, his body trembling with exhaustion and the lingering adrenaline of the fight on the ledge. Kaelith stood beside him, breathing heavily but alert, her gaze fixed on Forgemaster Borin and the dwarven guards examining the bodies of the fallen hunters.
Borin directed his guards with curt, guttural commands. They handled the bodies with detached efficiency, stripping them of their energy rifles and any visible equipment – scanners, grenades, strange metallic canisters Lunrik couldn't identify. They paid particular attention to the armour, tapping on its surface, examining the seals near the neck where Kaelith's knife had found purchase, muttering observations in Dwarven. The bodies themselves were then unceremoniously bundled into heavy, opaque disposal sacks. Nothing would be left on the surface to indicate their presence or the dwarves' involvement.
"Your assessment, Forgemaster?" Lunrik asked, pushing himself upright, curiosity momentarily overriding his fatigue. Understanding the hunters was crucial.
Borin turned, stroking his beard thoughtfully, his sharp eyes missing nothing. "The armour is… remarkable. Lightweight alloy, complex articulation, integrated shielding against energy discharge – note the scoring where our particle projectors impacted, minimal penetration on the first hit." He indicated a scorch mark on one hunter's chest plate. "Far beyond standard surface smithing. The weapons…" He picked up one of the retrieved energy rifles, heavier and more compact than the damaged one Lunrik had carried. "Contained power cell, focused beam emission, variable settings suspected. Sophisticated. Dangerous."
He looked directly at Lunrik. "Master Artificer Gyra will be… intensely interested in these spoils. Your eyewitness account of their tactics, their cloaked entrance, and the weapon's effects will be invaluable." His tone implied Lunrik's value, and thus his continued 'protection', had just increased significantly.
"The entrance they used," Kaelith interjected, her voice steady. "It wasn't dwarven tech. It shimmered, dissolved the rock face. Like… like unstable magic, almost, but controlled."
Borin frowned deeply at that. "Magic? On our threshold? Unlikely. More probable: advanced field projection technology designed for stealth insertion. Cloaking fields, perhaps localized dimensional phasing." He shook his head. "Whatever the method, breaching our sealed borders, even unknowingly, is an act of extreme aggression. The source of this technology must be identified." His jaw tightened. "The Mountain King will not tolerate such intrusions."
Mention of the Mountain King again – the ultimate authority, clearly roused by this external technological threat.
"What now, Forgemaster?" Lunrik asked. "The Ashfang are approaching."
"Indeed," Borin confirmed grimly. "Grakkus and his rabble. Sensors track their slow advance across the glacier. They seem hesitant, perhaps spooked by the dragon sign or Vorlag's disappearance, but they persist. Their target appears to be the area near the ice caves, as you reported." He paused. "For now, they pose no immediate threat to the Gate itself. We will monitor. Our primary concern remains identifying these unknown hunters and their capabilities."
He gestured back down the main tunnel. "You two will return to holding. You require rest, medical attention." He eyed Lunrik's limp pointedly. "Master Gyra will likely summon you again soon, once she has had time for preliminary analysis of these artifacts." He nodded towards the bundled equipment the guards were now carrying. "Do not assume your recent… exertions… grant you privileges. You remain surface dwellers under conditional sanctuary. Your cooperation continues to be expected."
Despite the stern words, Lunrik sensed a subtle shift. They had faced danger, gathered vital intelligence, eliminated immediate threats at the Gate. They had proven useful, perhaps even reliable in a desperate situation. The distrust remained, deeply ingrained, but it was now tempered with a grudging acknowledgment of their capabilities.
They were escorted back towards the lift platform, leaving Borin and his guards to manage the securing of the Gate and the analysis of the hunters' gear. The journey back down to the detention level felt different this time. The dwarven escorts were still impassive, but their vigilance seemed slightly less hostile, more professionally watchful. The other dwarves they passed in the corridors still stared, but perhaps with more curiosity than outright suspicion now. News, even in the isolated depths of Grimfang Deep, likely traveled fast along internal comms channels. The surface dwellers who had survived the glacier and brought back spoils of an unknown enemy were likely already becoming subjects of Cog City rumour.
Back on level seventy-two, they were not immediately returned to their separate cells. Instead, they were guided to a small, functional med-bay adjacent to the detention block. A dour-faced dwarven healer with hands surprisingly gentle despite their calloused appearance examined Lunrik's ankle and ribs, applying a pungent, fast-acting herbal poultice that immediately eased the worst of the pain and swelling. He declared the injuries minor, likely healed within a day or two thanks to Lunrik's werewolf resilience, but advised rest. Kaelith received a similar check-up, her bruises and the lingering effects of the energy net deemed superficial.
After the medical assessment, they were finally led back towards the cells. Lunrik braced himself for separation again, but to his surprise, the warden stopped before a single, slightly larger cell than the one he'd occupied before.
"Revised accommodation," the warden stated flatly, gesturing towards the open door. "Easier observation. Reduces required guard detail."
Inside, the cell was still spartan, but marginally larger, with two metal slabs instead of one. Eryndor Frostmane was already inside, huddled on one slab, awake now but still pale and trembling, wrapped in a thick dwarven blanket. He looked up fearfully as Lunrik and Kaelith entered.
Sharing a cell. It wasn't freedom, but it was a significant concession. It meant they could talk, plan, support each other. It suggested the dwarves, particularly Borin or perhaps Thrain, saw value in keeping them together, at least for now. Perhaps to observe their interactions? Or simply for logistical convenience? Regardless of the motive, Lunrik felt a profound sense of relief wash over him as the cell door hissed shut, sealing the three of them inside together.
"Kaelith," he breathed, sinking onto the other metal slab, the dwarven poultice already working its magic on his ankle. "Are you truly alright?"
"I will be," she replied, her voice low, meeting his gaze with her steady one. "Just… rattled. That energy net felt wrong." She looked over at Eryndor, who flinched under her gaze. "And him?"
"Still terrified," Lunrik observed. "But conscious." He addressed the Frostmane heir directly, keeping his voice calm. "Eryndor. You are safe here. Safer than on the glacier. The dwarves… they have offered conditional sanctuary."
Eryndor looked from Lunrik to Kaelith, confusion warring with fear in his wide eyes. "Safe? With… dwarves? They hate surface dwellers. They hate… us." He gestured vaguely, likely referring to marked heirs.
"Their priorities have shifted," Lunrik explained carefully. "They are concerned about Magdra Ashgrim trying to breach their borders. And about the unknown hunters who attacked us all. We provided information. They see us as… temporarily useful."
"Useful?" Eryndor whispered, shivering. "They want the pass. The Whispering Ice Pass. Grandmother warned me… never speak of it… sealed path… dangerous…"
"The dwarves know Magdra seeks it," Kaelith reassured him gently. "They won't let her have it. And they won't force the knowledge from you, not yet anyway. Right now, they need us more for information about the hunters."
Eryndor still looked unconvinced, huddled deeper into his blanket.
Lunrik leaned back against the cold metal wall. They were together again, relatively safe for the moment, inside the impenetrable fortress of Grimfang Deep. But they were still prisoners, pawns in a larger game. Their fates were tied to the dwarves' assessment of the external threats, Gyra's analysis of the hunters' technology, and potentially, the very information Eryndor feared revealing. Outside, Ashfang reinforcements gathered. Somewhere, the remaining silent hunters regrouped. And high above, a grieving dragon circled the peaks.
They had returned to the stone heart of the mountain, but the echoes of the surface war, and the whispers of unknown technological foes, followed them even here, deep beneath the gears of the Cog City. Their respite would likely be short-lived.