Chapter 73: Mahakam's Welcome
POV: Geralt
The gate defied human architecture.
Fifty feet of carved granite rose from mountain stone, covered in runes that pulsed with soft blue light. Protective wards—Geralt recognized their function if not their specific enchantments. Anything hostile that crossed that threshold would find itself facing magic older than most kingdoms.
"Impressive," Lambert muttered.
"Understatement." Yarpen straightened his traveling cloak, suddenly formal. "Mahakam Hold. Seven thousand years of continuous habitation. Never conquered, never breached, never bowed to any human king."
Guards emerged from shadowed alcoves. Four dwarves in full plate, axes that gleamed with enchanted edges, expressions carved from the same stone they protected.
"Yarpen Zigrin." The lead guard consulted a ledger. "Caravan expected. But—" His gaze swept their human companions with obvious distaste. "—your guests aren't."
"They're under my vouching, Korgrim. Saved my people on the road."
"Humans saved dwarves?" Skepticism dripped from every syllable. "That's a first."
"There's other firsts happening too." Yarpen pushed Adam forward. "Show them."
Here we go. Geralt's hand drifted toward his sword hilt. If this went wrong...
Adam crouched, pressed both palms to the stone threshold, and pushed.
Granite rippled. A pillar rose—smooth, controlled, twisting into a spiral pattern that spoke of deliberate artistry rather than raw force. Three feet. Four. Five. It stopped, held, then gently descended back into the floor without leaving a mark.
The guards had gone silent.
"Stone-speaker." Korgrim's voice cracked on the second syllable. "You're telling me this human commands earth?"
"Commands, coaxes, convinces." Yarpen's grin showed teeth. "Call it what you want. Boy bent stone like shaping clay."
"By the Deep Fathers..." Another guard reached out, touched where the pillar had stood. "No fractures. No stress marks. Clean as virgin ore."
"We need to see the Council." Korgrim had recovered his composure, but his eyes kept darting to Adam with something approaching awe. "Immediately."
—Scene Break—
POV: Adam
The underground city stole my breath.
Mahakam Hold sprawled through carved chambers that dwarfed any human cathedral. Bridges of shaped stone arced between levels. Forges burned with magma channeled from deep earth, their heat a constant presence. Everywhere, dwarves worked—smithing, carving, shaping rock with tools and patience I could barely comprehend.
And through tremor sense, I felt all of it.
Thousands of heartbeats. Dozens of underground rivers. Mining operations that sent rhythmic vibrations through kilometer after kilometer of stone. The sensory flood nearly dropped me to my knees.
"Easy." Ciri's hand found my elbow, steadying. "Breathe."
"There's so much." I forced myself to narrow the perception, filter out background noise. "I can feel the whole mountain."
"Then feel it later." Geralt's voice cut through my wonder. "Council first. Impressions second."
He was right. This wasn't tourism—it was negotiation for survival.
POV: Ciri
The Council chamber made her nervous.
Five dwarven elders sat on raised stone thrones, their ages written in white beards and weathered faces. The eldest—Brouver Hoog, Yarpen had whispered—watched their approach with eyes like chips of flint.
Don't show fear. Don't show weakness. You're Calanthe's granddaughter, even if no one here can know it.
"Yarpen Zigrin vouches for humans." Brouver's voice rumbled like distant thunder. "Unusual."
"Unusual humans, Elder." Yarpen bowed, formally this time. "The young one commands stone. Bent granite at our gates like shaping potter's clay."
"So I've heard." Brouver's gaze fixed on Adam. "Demonstrate."
Adam didn't hesitate. He knelt, pressed his palms to the chamber floor, and began to create.
Stone flowed. What emerged wasn't simple—a miniature model of Mahakam's gate rose from the floor, perfect in every detail. Runes spiraled up its surface. Tiny figures stood guard. The whole sculpture took perhaps three minutes and captured architectural nuances Ciri hadn't consciously noticed.
When Adam released the stone, the sculpture remained. Permanent. Perfect.
"Impressive." A younger elder leaned forward. "But impressive doesn't equal trustworthy. Humans bring trouble. Always have."
"We're being hunted," Geralt said flatly. "By the Wild Hunt."
The name dropped like stone into still water. Even Brouver's composure cracked.
"Hunt rides again?" Another elder's voice trembled. "Frost riders from the far spheres?"
"They want her." Adam gestured to Ciri without revealing why. "We need somewhere to lie low. Train. Prepare."
"And bring Hunt attention to our holds?" Brouver shook his head. "Unacceptable risk."
"The Hunt can't manifest in deep stone." Lambert's interjection drew surprised looks. "Your mountains block dimensional resonance. Ley lines don't reach this far down. They'd have to breach your gates physically—and I doubt spectral riders carry siege equipment."
Silence. The elders exchanged glances heavy with unspoken communication.
"One month." Brouver finally spoke. "Trial sanctuary. In exchange—" He pointed at Adam. "—you help our mining operations. Clear collapsed tunnels. Train our guards to recognize earth-magic when they see it. After one month, Council reconvenes. If you've proven worth, we discuss longer terms."
"And if we haven't?" Geralt asked.
"Then you leave. Peacefully, with our thanks for service rendered. But you leave."
[ QUEST COMPLETE: Protect Yarpen's Caravan ]
[ XP Gained: 200 ]
[ NEW QUEST: Mahakam Trial Sanctuary ]
[ Objective: Prove worth to Dwarven Council ]
[ Duration: 30 days ]
Adam bowed—deep, respectful, the gesture of someone who understood what was being offered. "We accept. With gratitude."
"Gratitude's cheap." Brouver's expression didn't soften. "Work's what we value. Prove your stone-sense equals your stone-speech, boy. Then we'll see about gratitude."
—Scene Break—
POV: Adam
Guest quarters carved from living rock.
I pressed my hand against the wall, feeling geometric precision that human masons couldn't match. Every angle exact. Every surface smooth. Thousands of years of accumulated skill embedded in simple bedroom walls.
"One month." Ciri sat on the stone bed—comfortable enough once she'd added blankets, but harder than anything she'd grown up with. "Think it's enough?"
"Has to be." I let tremor sense expand, cataloging our surroundings. Guards at both corridor ends. Other guests in adjacent rooms. The deep throb of forges far below. "The earthbending needs work. If I can master it here, learn what the dwarves know..."
"Then what?" She met my eyes. "We keep running? Find another hole to hide in?"
"We get stronger." I crossed to her, took her hands. Through our bond, I felt her exhaustion, her fear, the steel core that kept both at bay. "Strong enough that running becomes optional."
"Is that possible?"
I thought about the troll fight. Level 31 now. Earthbending unlocked. Tremor sense expanding daily. Three elements of four, with fire waiting somewhere ahead.
"It's possible. It has to be."
She leaned into me, disguise forgotten, princess and peasant merged into simply Ciri—the girl who'd survived everything and kept surviving.
"One month," she whispered. "Let's make it count."
Outside, Mahakam's forges burned eternal. Stone sang its ancient songs to anyone patient enough to listen. And somewhere far above, through kilometers of protective rock, the Wild Hunt searched for prey they wouldn't find.
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