Industry

Eric opened the carriage door and leaned out to get a better look at the enormous gate. At first it looked closed—solid stone and metal from edge to edge. Then a guard started walking toward them from the tunnel beyond, and his brain finally caught up. The gate was open; it only looked shut. The lines cut into the rock behind it lined up with the plates so well that, from the road, it read as a single unbroken wall.

Then he could smell it—the scent of forges and steel, coal and creosote thick in the air.

The guard walking up was a dwarf in the finest full plate Eric had ever seen—which, granted, wasn’t a high bar since he’d never actually seen full plate in person before. The dwarf’s beard poked out from the bottom of his helm in a thick, braided wedge, swinging slightly against the polished metal as he walked. Tiny metal clasps kept the braids from getting caught in the armor, each one stamped with the same angular sigils carved into the gate behind him.

The guard walked up to the carriage and looked up at Eric for a moment. With an amused look, he turned to Grendar. “Ay, welcome home, Grendar. I see ye brought some strays wit’ ye.”

Eric caught the way he said home—not the city, but Grendar himself. Road-dwarf, mountain-dwarf, either one. The guard had watched him come and go more times than he could count.

Grendar chuckled. "Aye, this lot’s an interestin’ bunch—thinkin’ they’ll fit right in here."

Before the guard could answer, a deeper rumble rolled up the road behind them. Hooves clopped heavy on stone, tack creaked, and the slow, stubborn snort of a drayhorn carried forward through the cold air.

Kaelen’s voice drifted in a heartbeat before the beast came into view. “Fit right in where, exactly?”

Ragnar followed with a low laugh as their drayhorn lumbered up behind Grendar’s carriage, broad head swinging, breath steaming. Grendar’s brother walked at its shoulder, lead in hand, like the road belonged to him.

The guard glanced back over his shoulder, grin widening. “Aye. Looks like ye weren’t the only one collectin’ strays.”

Grendar half-waved at the guard. “Well now, Yrarik—aye, always a pleasure. Stay safe out here, ye old stone.”

“Aye,” Yrarik nodded, his smile fading. “I know I don’t have tae tell ye, but keep yer elf friends well clear o’ the foundry. Iron in the air’ll drop ’em faster than bad ale.”

Grendar snapped the reins, and the carriage started rolling again. Eric closed the door and dropped back into his seat. Welyvyne was already peering through the tiny window across from him, posture pitched forward with quiet, eager focus.

He leaned toward his own window as the gates slid past. The echo of the carriage sharpened and multiplied as they entered the tunnel, the sound turning dense and hollow all at once.

The passage opened into something enormous—maybe thirty feet wide and close to forty tall. Massive stone pillars, intricately carved, ran the length of the tunnel in steady ranks. Near the top of each pillar, heavy braces spanned across to their partners on the far side, locking the whole vaulted throat of stone together like a giant ribcage.

Eric heard Welyvyne gasp at the sight. He understood it. The mana lamps cast orange light rather than the elven cities’ bluish glow, and the difference gave the tunnel a distinct underground feeling.

It wasn’t long before the tunnel opened into an even larger space. The city was huge. Looking up revealed only darkness, and orange lamps lined every path.

The main street they were on was wide enough for four carts to pass each other. Buildings rose on both sides, all stone, copper, and steel. The streets were packed with dwarves—and what looked like the most human-looking elves Eric had seen so far.

Slowly they traveled through the city—building after building, each one a shop, many with housing stacked above. Grendar turned them off to the right, and they pulled into a stable yard. The carriage shook as Grendar made his way down the little ladder.

Eric opened the door and gestured for Welyvyne to exit first.

Welyvyne looked at him. Their eyes met, and Eric could feel the message without a word: she wasn’t going to stop trying to get him to talk about his trauma.

Eric smiled at her anyway. Despite his frustration, he couldn’t have asked for a better friend.

Grendar was already talking with the stablehand by the time Eric finally clambered down off the carriage. Welyvyne stood a few steps away, chin tipped up into the dark like she was tryin’ to drink the whole ceiling in, awe plain on her face.

Grendar’s voice carried over without him even lookin’ back. “Oy, lad. Get ’em fed and watered. I’ll swing back come mornin’. Oh—and keep a wary eye on this one here. He’ll bite yer arm off if ye give him a reason.”

Ragnar and Kaelen arrived a moment later. Kaelen hopped off the carriage with a finesse Eric hadn’t seen from him yet, then twisted at the waist and stretched his shoulders, shaking the road out of his bones in one smooth reset.

“I didn’t know that there was a half elf population here,” Kaelen said when he finished stretching.

Eric perked up at that. “Half elves? Is that why they looked so human?”

Kaelen blinked at Eric for a moment, flicked a quick glance at Lyren, then back. “I didn’t think you were on talking terms with me. I assumed you were mad at me yesterday, so I chose to ride with Ragnar.”

Eric shook his head and sighed. “No, Kaelen, you hadn’t crossed a line with me. You may have had a point, but I mean it when I say I use anger as a tool. I’m not dangerous to you.”

Eric looked down for a second, then over to Welyvyne. “At least I don’t believe I am.”

Lyren walked up behind Eric, wrapping her arm around his. “I know you're not mad at me. I’ve been nothing but nice to you.”

Eric flinched. “Except you find cruel pleasure in messing with me.”

“Okay, that’s fair. But honestly,” Lyren said through laughing, “you make it so easy.”

Ragnar finished with his own cart and walked over with Grendar while they were talking. Grendar chuckled. “Ye done ticklin’ each others ears? It’s about time we head to the inn, don’ ye think?”

At that, Grendar and Ragnar began walking away. Eric looked at everyone and shrugged. “Guess they aren’t asking.”

The group moved through the city, everyone’s head turning to look at something new. The roads were laid in perfect rectangles, like huge bricks set in a herringbone pattern. Each brick sat close to the next without touching, spaced off by maybe an eighth of an inch.

Huh. Wonder if that’s how they handle condensation—let the water slide between the bricks to keep the roads dry, Eric thought.

They arrived at the inn. The sign called it The Snoring Giant, but by the sound of it, the place was a rowdy tavern. Dwarves inside were already yelling nonsense from this distance, and every shout ended in laughter and the bright ring of metal clinking on metal.

Entering, Eric noticed that the tables and chairs were made from wood and steel. The tops were stained, coated in some kind of resin, and polished to a clean shine. Not what he would’ve expected—he’d assumed stone would be the natural building material down here.

The bartender was serving ale and stacking mugs onto trays, and half-elf waitresses swept in to collect them, passing the drinks out with quick, practiced rhythm. The noise and motion hit all at once, leaving Eric paused in the doorway.

Ragnar turned and grunted. “Ye comin’ in, lad, or d’ye plan on plantin’ yerself in the doorway an’ keepin’ folk out all night?”

Eric blinked at Ragnar, then fell back into step with the group. Grendar had already moved up to the bar. Eric saw him jerk a thumb back toward them as he handed over a few coins, then Grendar turned and dropped into a table to the left of the bar.

Everyone sat. Lyren, Welyvyne, and Kaelen were all eyeing the steel.

Eric saw Grendar's eyes track their wary looks at the steel, and the dwarf was already chuckling by the time he took his seat. “Don’cha worry yourself with the steel; it’s been coated so it won’ hurt yer pretty behinds.”

It didn’t take long before an ale landed in front of everyone, and the waitress moved on as fast as she’d come.

Grendar smiled at Eric. “Oy, listen—paid fer yer room already. After we wet our throats, I want tae take ye down tae the foundry. I’d haul the rest o’ ye along, but… aye, ye know.”

Eric lifted his mug of ale and took a long pull.

Which was a mistake. It burned all the way down.

He coughed hard, eyes watering, and pounded his chest.

"What is in this," he managed, "it's like really good ale with moonshine in it!"

Grendar chuckled. “Dunna know what moonshine is, lad, but that there’s the finest stout in the whole city.”

Lyren smirked. “Don't be a baby.” She took a drink—then wheezed out, “see, good.”

Eric just gave Lyren a flat look. Welyvyne laughed, "I don't think you're selling it Lyren"

They all looked over to Kaelen, who was just then putting his mug down and wiping his face. He looked back. “What? It’s really good.”

Lyren looked into his mug, eyes widening. “How did you drink half of it already.”

Eric took another sip, savoring it this time. “Yeah okay, this is actually really good.”

Welyvyne looked into her mug as if the ale were about to attack her. She picked it up, took a tiny sip, and smiled—then drained the rest in one go.

Eric just sat there and blinked at her.

She turned to him, wiping her face. “What? This isn't any stronger than our fire stout where I come from.”

Lyren's eyes widened, and she laughed. “Are you serious? That... really.”

Grendar slapped the table, howling. “Aye! Full dwarven spirit in that one—right there!”

Eric smiled and looked around the table. “You guys call me impossible.” He tipped his mug at them. “Well, I’m not dragging you to bed. I’ll leave you right here while I get the room to myself.”

Grendar drained his mug, wiped his beard, and nodded at Eric. “Ye ready, lad? Night’s crawlin’ in, an’ I’ve a whole damn world tae show ye.”

Eric pushed himself from the table, looked at Welyvyne, and smiled. “You know I’d want you to see this with me, but you already handled iron for me once. I’ll tell you everything when I get back, though.”

Welyvyne smiled. “You better. Also, I’m drinking the rest of your ale.”

Eric chuckled. “Be my guest. I don’t think I’d be able to stand if I drank all of that.”

Grendar and Eric stepped out of the inn. As the door shut behind them, Eric turned back to look at it. The nonsensical words still spilled through the cracks, sharp bursts of shouting and laughter, but now that he was outside the noise felt… wrong.

It wasn’t just that he couldn’t make out the words. It was the abruptness of it—the way meaning seemed to vanish the instant it crossed the threshold. That was what caught his attention.

That’s not just drunken yelling, he realized. That’s an enchantment.

Grendar waved Eric along. “C’mon then, lad. We’ll catch the Forgeline, ride her down tae the deep where the foundries sit. After that, we’ll see the forges proper.”

Grendar hurried along, boots clacking quick on stone, and they rounded a corner into a queue that stretched half the street. Dwarves and half-elves stood shoulder to shoulder, waitin’ their turn—most with picks slung over their backs, helms tucked under arms or already on. Little mana lamps jutted from the brow of the helmets, glowing orange.

Grendar slowed, squinting down the line, then huffed a laugh. “Well then, lad… I’d thought we’d beat shift change. Looks like we’re a mite later’n I reckoned.”

“So, lad,” Grendar said, “Forgeline’s a wee bit rough on yer first ride. Just grip the rail and ye’ll be right. If ye do go tumblin’ off, hug the wall—line’ll stop soon as it can and we’ll send a fetcher fer ye. But… aye. Don’ fall off.”

Eric furrowed his brow. “Do people fall off often?”

Grendar barked a laugh. “Naw. Rare as a soft hammer. But when it happens? Oh, we roast ’em proper for a good month.”

“And how many people die when it happens?” Eric deadpanned.

Grendar smiled, rubbing his beard. “Don’ reckon anyone’s died off it. Mostly bruised arses, bruised pride, an’ the odd bone what needs settin’.”

When they finally reached the Forgeline, it reminded Eric of a tram—except this one was open to the air, with guard rails running everywhere. He and Grendar stepped on. Grendar grabbed the rail, and Eric followed suit.

The moment the car lurched, Eric understood the warning. It didn’t start slow. It took off, snapping forward hard enough that his stomach dipped. He stumbled, catching himself on the rail as the line surged along the track, nearly throwing him over the side.

Grendar laughed. “Ye alright there, Eric? Thought I’d get a proper chance tae roast ye fer sure.”

Eric just held on to the rail. He shot Grendar a quick look, but the speed was terrifying—too fast to do anything but brace. Orange mana lamps dotted the tunnel in a rushing line, and the rapid flashes made it feel like he was standing inside a strobe light.

The Forgeline seemed to spiral downward and down, the air growing hotter with every turn, until it came to an abrupt stop. Eric practically jumped off the moment it did, half-expecting it to lurch forward again if he hesitated.

Grendar laughed even harder. “Ye bring an extra pair o’ pants with ya, lad? By the look on yer face, ye may need ’em.”

Eric was about to speak when he saw the foundry. Overhead, tons of metal rode in baskets along hanging monorails, feeding into the biggest foundry he’d ever seen—at least three stories tall.

Liquid metal flowed through carved channels into molds of all kinds. Dwarves and half-elves alike worked the line, pulling filled molds free and sliding empty ones into place without breaking rhythm. The filled molds traveled onward along a conveyor to another station, where workers knocked the parts out, stacked them for sorting, and sent the molds back down the return track to be used again.

It was a loop. A machine made of stone, steel, and people, running like it had been turning forever.

Grendar slapped Eric on the back hard enough to rattle his teeth. “Ye won’t see nothin’ like this in an elven city, lad. I’m thinkin’ molds fer watch cases an’ gears—big line here. Little lines yonder fer the small bits. We ship it all tae our end, you work yer clever magic, an’ we’ll assemble ’em, stock ’em, and maybe open a whole damn shop just fer watches.”

Eric crossed his arms, thumb scraping along his jaw as he thought it through. “That’s… ambitious, Grendar. There is no way Welyvyne and I can keep up with that kind of output.”

Grendar chuckled. “Aye, I know. I’ve been thinkin’ on it. What I figured is we stamp the discs here—same as any other line—then layer ’em up proper. You two only need tae put a touch o’ mana in tae kick ’em started, an’ we’ll do the rest o’ the assemblin’.

I ken ye’re busy wi’ school an’ all, lad, but I’m tellin’ ye we can make this work. Not just fer the elven city neither—fer all the surroundin’ folk what’ve never even seen a watch that keeps true time.”

Eric frowned. “I see what you mean, but this isn’t going to work with just us. We’ll have to hire some people. We’ll have to have a place for them to work—and how many enchanters need work?”

“Ha! That’s the stuff, lad. Knew ye had sense in yer skull. Most folk get precious over their craft—ye’re already thinkin’ about hands tae hire. Means ye’ll do fine here.”

Eric shook his head, a disbelieving laugh slipping out. “So that was some kind of test?”

Grendar chuckled. “Aye, lad. Figured this was yer pride an’ joy, so I needed tae see if ye’d truly let ’em be built without ye standin’ over every last one. An’ aye—same fifty percent goes tae you an’ Welyvyne.”

Eric shrugged, working through the logic aloud. “So I take it you don’t even need to build them in the elven city, then?”

Grendar’s smile went a little sly. “Naw, no need fer that. But here’s the real ask—do ye trust me tae run the haul an’ coin o’ it without takin’ ye fer a ride?”

Eric smiled. “If you were wanting to take me for a ‘ride,’ you wouldn’t be having this talk right now, Grendar. I do believe I trust you. Besides, this isn’t the only thing I’ll build—I’m sure of that.”

“Aye.” Grendar nodded, beard dipping. “Wouldn’t want tae miss out on any o’ that. Right then—it’s settled. We’ll build ’em here, an’ ye can start dreamin’ up the next clever thing.”

Eric paused. “I’d hate to make this official without Welyvyne involved, Grendar, but let’s say yes—let’s do it. And if Welyvyne doesn’t agree, then we figure it out from there.”

Grendar’s grin went wide. “Aye, that’s fair. That’s a deal then, Eric. Now c’mon—let’s haul ourselves outta here. Bet ye’re worn down tae the bone.”

Eric smiled. “Nope. I want to see the forge.”

Grendar barked a laugh. “Ha! Spoken like a dwarf right there. Come on, lad—lemme show ye the forge proper. She’s a beast o’ a thing, an’ worth every step ye took tae get here.”

Grendar led him into another massive bay. The ceiling vanished into smoke and shadow, and the floor trembled underfoot. Giant industrial hammers rose and fell in a slow, brutal rhythm—so heavy that the first time one came down, Eric felt it in his chest more than he heard it.

Hot steel lay under them in glowing billets. Dwarves moved the metal with practiced ease, rolling it, turning it, feeding it back into position. Some set heavy punches onto the billets just before the strike, letting the hammer drive the shape through in a single thunderous blow. Others worked a neighboring line where long lengths of metal were being drawn out and straightened—rails for tracks, by the look of it—each impact sending a dull shock through the stone beneath his boots.

Eric just stood there, stunned. He’d seen the Earth equivalent, sure, but this—this wasn’t steam or hydraulics. This was magic doing the same ruthless work, artificing scaled to something monstrous and precise all at once. This is what artificing can accomplish, he thought. This is the perspective I needed.

Grendar looked up at Eric, grin tugging at his beard. “Aye, I see ye approve. Most o’ this gets used right in the mines—no end o’ need fer it down there. But beyond that? Hah. Not much use, truth told. Folk on the surface dunna build rails at all… like they’re allergic tae progress.”

Eric smiled. “I bet in the future, I’ll have plenty for this to do.”

Grendar chuckled, beard shaking. “Aye, that I believe. There’s a spark in ye, lad—dunna know what kind yet, but I see it burnin’. Now c’mon. Let’s get back tae yer friends. Sure they’re wonderin’ what happened tae ye.”

Eric and Grendar returned to the inn. The ride back was just as terrifying, and Eric barely resisted losing his lunch.

When they stepped inside, he lowered his head, still a little green around the edges. “I told them I wasn’t carrying them to their room.”

Welyvyne was sitting there, staring into her empty mug. Lyren had passed out on the table, and Kaelen was weaving back and forth like he wasn’t entirely sure which direction the floor was.

Eric shook his head, amused. “Welyvyne, why is everyone still sitting here?”

Welyvyne looked up at him, bleary-eyed. “We were talking about you,” she said, poking Eric on the stomach.

Eric chuckled. “Oh yeah? What makes me so important?”

Welyvyne gasped. “Eric, what makes you think you’re important? No, we were talking about you being you. You’re not easy to read, Eric. We want to trust you, but you aren’t making it easy.”

Eric frowned. “Okay, but before we get into that—how are you not, well, in that state?”

Welyvyne crossed her arms. “You dodged me again!”

Eric sighed. “No, Welyvyne, I’m not dodging you. Tell you what—I’ll open up with you after a good night’s sleep. I’ll carry Lyren up, and come back down to get Kaelen.”

Grendar snorted, thumbing a key into Eric’s palm. “Room twelve. You lot get yerselves up there—I’ll haul Kaelen. Be up in a bit.”

Eric gently lifted Lyren from the chair, cradling her in his arms. Welyvyne latched onto him as well, leaning on his shoulder as they made their way upstairs and into the ladies’ room. He set Lyren down on one of the beds, and Welyvyne all but collapsed into the other.

Eric pulled Lyren’s boots off, tucked them under the bed, then covered her.

Welyvyne chuckled from the other bed, lying on her back and lifting one boot into the air. “Can you get my boots too?”

Eric shook his head, amused. “Sure thing.” He pulled her boots off, tucked them under the bed, and covered her as well.

Welyvyne turned to look at him. “Tomorrow, you will talk to me?”

Eric smiled. “I will, but you need some sleep. There is, in fact, much to talk about.”

Eric turned to leave the room.

Welyvyne sat up slightly. “Good night, Eric.”

Eric paused. “Good night, Welyvyne.”

He closed the door behind him. When he got to his room, Grendar had just plopped Kaelen on the bed. Grendar smiled and patted him on the shoulder on the way out the door. “I dunna envy them in the morn. G’night, lad.”

Before Eric could even form a word of thanks, Grendar was gone. Eric barely managed to kick off his boots before face-planting onto his mattress, the dwarf's chuckle echoing in his mind as sleep took him.