chapter 20.3

The morning light barely reached the entrance of the Steelhammer stronghold, its grandeur hidden beneath the towering mountains that sheltered it. The rocky path leading to the entrance was narrow and winding, a clear indication that this was no place for outsiders to tread easily. Alcard's horse snorted as it trotted over uneven terrain, its hooves echoing against the cold stone walls flanking either side of the road. Ahead, the entrance loomed—a massive steel-forged gate adorned with intricate carvings, depicting the history of the clan in sprawling reliefs. Tales of war, triumph, and innovation were immortalized in metal and stone, a testament to the Dwarves' pride and unwavering commitment to their craft.

Standing before the colossal gates were two armored Dwarven sentinels, their presence as imposing as the stronghold itself. Their armor, dark silver and engraved with the sigil of the Steelhammer clan—a hammer striking against an anvil—glistened under the flickering glow of the torchlight. They held their halberds with the discipline of warriors bred for battle, their eyes sharp beneath the narrow slits of their helmets.

As Alcard approached, one of the guards took a step forward, blocking his path with the shaft of his weapon. His voice, deep and filled with suspicion, cut through the cold mountain air.

"An outcast?" The Dwarf scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain. "What business does a vagabond from The Wall have with the Steelhammer Clan?"

Alcard, ever composed, did not react to the insult. He had long grown used to such treatment. With a slow, deliberate movement, he reached inside his cloak and retrieved the sealed letter from Oldman. Without a word, he handed it to the guard.

The Dwarf took the letter, eyeing Alcard one last time before breaking the wax seal and reading its contents. His expression darkened as his eyes scanned the lines of text. Then, without so much as a word, he turned to his companion and muttered something in the Dwarven tongue.

"Outkarn thrû. Kharzul nâr gharrûn dholnar kar-dvazûr, ukh? Grûmarz narathûk thrazgrôn!"

(An outcast again. They never stop draining our resources, do they? Bloody parasites.)

The other guard chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he shot a glance at Alcard. Though he could not understand the exact words, he knew the tone well. The same tone of derision he had faced among humans, elves, and now, Dwarves.

Still, he remained unfazed, standing motionless as he awaited their decision.

After a brief exchange, the guard let out a sigh of frustration and signaled toward the gate. With the groan of metal grinding against stone, the colossal doors began to shift, gears clanking and chains rattling as the mechanisms pulled the steel gates open. A gust of cold air rushed from within, carrying the scent of molten iron and coal—a distinct fragrance of a city built upon the foundation of industry and war.

"Fine," the guard muttered, his irritation barely concealed. "You may enter. But don't think for a moment that you're welcome here, outcast. Step out of line, and we'll throw you into the deepest mineshaft we have."

Alcard didn't bother responding. He merely nodded, gripping the reins of his horse as he led it forward into the heart of the Steelhammer stronghold.

As he stepped past the threshold, he was immediately struck by the scale of the underground city. Unlike the human settlements he had seen before, which sprawled outward across plains and valleys, the Steelhammer capital was carved directly into the mountain itself. The cavernous expanse stretched endlessly, illuminated by veins of glowing minerals embedded in the walls and massive lanterns suspended by chains from the ceiling. The ground beneath his feet was paved with dark granite, polished smooth by centuries of foot traffic.

Towering structures of solid stone lined the streets, each meticulously carved and reinforced with steel braces. Wide bridges spanned deep chasms where forges roared with life, their fires illuminating the depths of the city. Everywhere he looked, Dwarves were hard at work—smiths hammering red-hot metal, artisans engraving runes onto armor, and miners hauling carts laden with raw ore.

The sheer efficiency of their society was undeniable. There was no wasted motion, no idle hands. Every Dwarf he saw was performing a role, whether it be crafting weapons, refining metal, or overseeing the transportation of goods. It was a city that pulsed with productivity, a bastion of industry hidden from the world above.

As he made his way through the winding streets, he could feel the weight of countless stares pressing down on him. The Dwarves did not attempt to hide their disdain. Some merely glanced at him with distrust, while others openly sneered. It was clear that outcasts had no place here.

Eventually, he reached the heart of the stronghold—the Steelhammer Hall. A fortress within a fortress, the hall was even grander than the rest of the city, its entrance flanked by two colossal statues of Dwarven warriors wielding massive warhammers. The doors, made of pure adamantine, were engraved with intricate patterns of runes and symbols that seemed to shimmer faintly under the torchlight.

Standing before the entrance was yet another armored guard, this one of even greater stature than those at the outer gates. His armor bore additional embellishments, signifying his rank.

"Name and purpose," the guard demanded, his voice gruff.

Alcard produced the letter once more. "Alcard, representative of The Wall. I am here for trade negotiations and to request an audience with the Steelhammer Clan."

The guard snatched the letter and skimmed through it, his brow furrowing slightly before he folded the parchment and tucked it away.

"You'll wait here," he stated firmly before disappearing into the hall.

Alcard exhaled slowly. This was only the beginning. He knew that gaining the trust of the Steelhammer Clan—or at the very least, securing their cooperation—would not be easy. But beyond the trade negotiations, there was a deeper reason for his presence here. The Fragment.

If anyone in Middle Earth knew about the true nature of the Fragment he carried, it would be the Dwarves. Their knowledge of the ancient world, their records stretching back to the First Era, made them the most likely keepers of the truth. However, the real challenge lay in extracting that information without revealing what he possessed.

He could only hope that the Steelhammer Clan would be more willing to negotiate than the guards who had greeted him.

Minutes passed before the great doors finally creaked open once again, and the guard from before re-emerged.

"The Council of the Steelhammer Clan has agreed to see you," he announced. "Follow me."

With a final glance at the looming entrance, Alcard straightened his posture and stepped forward. Whatever awaited him inside, he knew that this meeting could change everything.

And he would make sure he was ready for it.

****