Mount Carbon, the hometown of the dwarves, the miracle fortress of the valley. Sunlight shone on its peak, its windows caressed by snow, its walls covered by steel and fire, and the air was filled with the scent of honey and pine oil.
***
“Well, this is some shit luck. Instead of getting our murderer, we got a whole group of armed dwarves.” Letho and Roy were captured by the dwarves not long after they got through the sentry. There was a big group of crossbowmen waiting for them, and the sheer number overwhelmed the duo. Seville’s letter wasn’t of any use, or to be more precise, it worked against them.
Roy sighed, and he followed the dwarves into the forest. More than two hours later, he felt the temperature drop drastically, the trees around him covered in silvery snow. And then they were led into a valley. Dwarves were frolicking around in the plaza, and sitting behind it was the destination of their journey — Mount Carbon.
“I believe introductions are necessary here, witcher. What you see here is Mahakam’s capital, the fortress of the dwarves, and the sanctuary of the ancient race — Mount Carbon.”
Roy was shaken to his core at the sight of the gigantic fortress. Mount Carbon was embedded within the mountain, and it was made up of a main fortress shaped like a cauldron, sixteen small forts, and countless towers. The buildings’ exterior was greyish-white, and was made out of cement. The walls were covered with a black steel shell over a hundred feet tall. It looked ancient and indestructible, like a beast slumbering in the dark. If it were to awaken, devastation would follow.
Roy didn’t remember the dwarves having any fortress like that, but there it was. When he looked up at the cracks between the forts, he saw thousands of small caves in the mountain, and countless dwarves were going around, providing nutrients for Mount Carbon, just like how worker ants would.
“Well, at least it’s a nice thing to see. We’ll let your scheme slide this time then, Seville.”
The letter was a pass and a letter of recommendation. They managed to fool the gullible ones, but not the ones in the Mahakams. Thanks to Seville’s praise, they were ‘cordially’ invited to visit Mount Carbon. And they had to settle the dwarves’ problem too.
Letho looked the slightest bit curious, for it was rare to see such a great building, even after years of working as a witcher. Behind them followed dozens of crossbowmen aiming at them. Even though witchers were skillful, that many crossbowmen could still take them out easily, and the siege weapons looming over them didn’t seem to be for show.
“Please forgive us for the offense.” The dwarf who spoke was Kaerwen Hoger, Brovar Hoger’s nephew. His armor was slightly covered in snow, but his hair was whiter than that. Because of the color of his hair and beard, he looked much older than he actually was. He had a hard expression, and he talked with arrogance and superiority, something that was rarely seen among dwarves.
Unlike most dwarves who braided their beards, Kaerwen tied it with a silver ribbon. It was daring, but also rebellious. Roy had sharply perceived Kaerwen’s enmity toward him the moment they’d met. He wondered if that enmity was only directed toward him, or if it was aimed at humans as a whole.
“Follow me, please.”
They went into the fortress, passing through the front gates that were filled with spikes, and a heatwave assailed them. Roy felt as if he went from the Arctic to a volcano, and sweat poured, then what he saw shocked him.
Hundreds of half-naked dwarves were flanking the hall, wearing nothing but aprons. Metallic sounds clanged out as the dwarves swung their hammers on the steel on their workstations. Flames soared, and the dwarves’ shadows were cast onto the wall, and it looked as if dark giants were swinging their arms.
A short while later, Roy’s attention was brought to the scene beside him. Inside the flames of a forge, red-hot liquid steel flowed freely, and the base of a four-feet sword was lying inside quietly. The dwarf who was working on it solemnly took out the base, but at an agonizing speed. The moment the base was out, booms were heard, and smoke sizzled. Even the air was howling at its scalding temperature. When the base had finally shown itself, its surface that had been hammered many times was showing signs of overlapping, but it was crude compared to a finished product.
The dwarf took it with his tongs and whispered to it, not unlike a lover to their partner. A moment later, he placed it on his anvil with his tongs in one hand, and his hammer in the other. He took a deep breath before raising his hammer, and then he swung it down on the base. Sparks hit his body that was drenched in oil and sweat, giving him a crimson sheen, and he looked like a god licked by flames.
Roy snapped out of it and scanned the whole hall. Weapons and armor were being made during every passing moment. And then black tongs immersed them in water, and steam billowed, filling the hall with smoke. Their movements were boring and repetitive, but there was an inexplicable rhythm to it. The rhythm breathed life into the items it created, giving them a special gleam.
“I can understand your feelings. I’m a dwarf, and even I was entranced by what I saw when I first came here. The forge is our pride, for it is the place where the best blacksmiths in the Mahakams and Mount Carbon come to work. It’s where the best weapons and armor in the north are created. The blacksmiths run on a shift system, and ores are supplied from the mines nearby, while the flames burn forever. The items that are created are sent to many nations, including Aedirn, Temeria, Kaedwen, and Redania. We’re neutral. We don’t take sides, nor do we oppress others,” Kaerwen said, bragging, and the crossbowmen raised their heads with pride.
Roy was speechless from his shock. The blacksmiths work around the clock? The number of things they make in a day must be off the charts. How many elite soldiers can they make? If their population had been large enough, the whole of the northern land would have been theirs.
“The wine cellar’s right under. Not that I’m bragging or anything, but if all the barrels down there were to break at the same time, the wine alone would be enough to create a river. But there’s no time for a visit today. It’s getting late, and Elder Brovar is waiting for you.”
He invited them to go forward, and they arrived at a door that was flanked by spiral staircases at the end of the hall. Kaerwen waved the crossbowmen away before opening the golden door, and then he took Letho and Roy’s weapons away. Behind the door stood two axemen that glared at anyone who came in. When they saw who it was, they kept their axes, revealing a path that was lit up by flames.
Pillars with complex engravings supported the chamber, and the red carpet in the center extended to the end of the room. On the top of the short staircase stood a dwarf with a golden crown, and his eyes were on Letho and Roy.
