The Stoneweaver

Chapter 5: Dwarf

Broca was a tinkerer, Falf explained to Skarn, as the dwarf returned to fiddle with the device on his desk. He rose to power after he discovered how to make guendo stay bright for weeks, instead of days. Broca's discovery had made it possible to light the Cavern day and night. His monopoly of the process dangled the keys to power, which he had "seized with his cunning hands," Falf said.

If Falf had been looking for a rise out of Broca, he was disappointed. The dwarf remained absorbed in his task, using a small file to pry open the case of the device.

Falf continued his narration, adding that Broca was now head of the Gaad, one of the strongest gangs in the Dungeon. The Gaad controlled brothels, gaming houses, and several water-selling operations.

Their biggest business, though, was the long-lasting guendo. And its more refined cousin, the explosive guendum.

"Very interesting," Skarn said. "But what does this have to do with escape? Falf said you could help us."

"I'm afraid you have it backwards," said Broca. "You're the one who can help us."

"How?"

"As Falf may have told you, the only way out of the Dungeon is through the Iron Door. On the other side of that door waits a platoon of Royal Guards—armed with dimsian weapons, I might add—every hour of the day."

Dimsian weapons. To prevent an escape by a Talented prisoner, no doubt.

"I don't see how I can be much help, then," said Skarn.

"There is another way out of the Dungeon," said Broca. "It just happens to be blocked by hundreds of feet of solid rock."

"And?"

"You're a stoneweaver, man!" barked Falf. "A Talented one. A few hundred feet of rock shouldn't stop you."

"It would take years, with crews of hundreds, to dig our way to the top," said Broca. "With your gifts, however, the time will be less considerable, and we'll need fewer men. That is, if you're Talent is strong enough."

"You ... want me to move hundreds of feet of solid rock with my Talent? Tunnel straight up to the surface?"

"If you want to escape," said Broca mildly.

He had never tried anything like that before. A hundred feet of rock? They had no idea what they were asking him.

Skarn's Talent first appeared when he was a boy of six. One day, his mother saw him build a rock tower from thirty small stones, impossibly balanced on one another. He had made them stand with his Talent, though he had not known it at the time. Building with stone was simply fun; he would lose himself for hours at a time.

So he was sent to learn at the Temple. And his first lesson was this: The work done by the Talent is paid by an equal work done by the mind. Moving a hundred feet of rock would place a greater strain on him than he had ever born.

"What you're proposing ..." faltered Skarn.

"Oh, we don't expect you to do it all at once," said Broca. "A little bit at a time. With plenty of time for you to rest."

Spacing it out. That might work.

"If it takes a year, it'll be worth it," said Falf. "I can wait that long."

"And you?" Skarn asked Broca.

"Him?" sneered Falf. "He's a king down here. Why would he want to leave?"

"I have my uses down here," said Broca. "But there are many prisoners—like our friend Falf here—who will pay handsomely to get to the surface again. Of course, I don't plan to let everyone leave," said Broca. "Just a few, here and there. Enough to make a tidy profit. Not enough to earn the attention of my trading partners on the surface."