Riding into the city, Lann looked up and around, taking in the scene with a hint of admiration. The finely crafted ceilings, the gilded walls, and the mighty bas-reliefs in black basalt—all of it reflected the dwarves' masterful craftsmanship.
However, now wasn't the time for sightseeing. Lann quickly followed Brouver into a vast council chamber. The ceiling of the chamber was low, yet the air inside carried a sense of history and artistry that far surpassed that of many human kingdoms. The surrounding walls were lined with a series of reliefs, each uniquely sculpted. After a few hushed questions, the group learned that these depicted the ancestors of the dwarves—and that one day, Brouver Hoog himself would be added among them once he passed.
At the far end of the chamber, a sacred flame burned within a dark stone brazier—the Flame of Borin. To its left stood the Steel Slabs: towering panels etched with the names of every dwarf who had fallen in battle, dating back to the time of the gnomes. Opposite them, resting upon a raised dais, loomed the Throne of the First King, carved directly from a vein of hematite. Though considered sacred, it had remained unoccupied for centuries—no dwarf had claimed the title of king since the age of legends.
As Lann and the others took their seats, Brouver stood with his back to them, gazing silently at the carvings, the flame, and the throne, as if communing with his forebears through sight alone.
Once everyone was in their places, he turned around and when he managed to capture everyone's attention, the Elder in Chief finally spoke slowly: "Did you know, Duke Lannister, that in our dwarven legends, the earliest inhabitants of this continent were the gnomes? The dwarves came after. Because of our similar cultures and way of life, we always got along well with the gnomes. It was the only recorded instance in history of two races meeting in peace. That is, until the arrival of the elves…"
"The elves' colonial expansion lasted for ten full centuries. The dwarves and gnomes stood side by side to resist those long-eared folk. They clashed with every ancient race except us, yet even then, they kept themselves in check. Even though the elves eventually became the rulers of the continent on the surface, we never truly broke out into full-scale war. The ancient races managed to maintain a basic level of coexistence."
At this point, the Elder turned his head and looked meaningfully at Lann. "Then came the humans… and now, there are only a few ancient races left that can still make a sound."
Hearing this kind of remark from a dwarf directed at humans could hardly be called friendly. Still, the Elder didn't seem to expect any rebuttal from Lann. Seeing the young man hesitate to speak, he let out a loud laugh and cut him off: "I know what you're thinking. I'm sure the history you were taught doesn't say anything like this. Every race interprets history in its own way—and you humans are the most chaotic of all," the Elder said, shaking his head. "I'd bet that no two human nations even teach the same version of history."
Lann smacked his lips, a little awkwardly. "In cases like that, the history books from Oxenfurt are usually considered the most authoritative. Scholars tend to lean toward the records kept there."
"That's still human history," the Elder growled. "You collect rumors from the countryside and revise them. We lived through that history."
There was no arguing with that. Lann could only shrug. "Well, I suppose we didn't come here just to trade stories. If I recall correctly, you were hoping this whole matter would be resolved quickly."
The Elder let out a muffled grunt, slammed the table, and a nearby guard handed him a large mug of Mahakaman ale.
He downed it in one go, foam clinging to his beard with a heady fragrance. Wiping his mouth with a rough swipe, he said, "I'm telling you all this because you carry elder blood, Lannister."
"Elven blood, to be exact. In that sense, you are one of the ancient races. Barely."
Lann frowned. "I appreciate the recognition, Elder in Chief. But I'm sitting here today as the Duke of Lannister, representing a human kingdom."
"Your father was related to Calanthe. That means the 'Little Lion of Cintra'—your princess—has elven blood too," the Elder continued, ignoring Lann's remark. "Heh. Now that's interesting."
"You can't run from the destiny carried in your blood, Duke Lannister," the Elder said, shaking his head.
"What, are you saying that the tiny trace of elven blood in my veins makes you like me more?"
"Of course not. Even the full-blooded long-ears weren't allowed past the gates of Mahakam back then. Let alone someone like you."
"So…" Lann's eyes began to glimmer with amusement, "Are you just trying to give yourself a way out of this? Is supporting a friend with elder blood more palatable than aiding a pure-blooded human?"
"I don't like you, Duke Lannister," the Elder in Chief said, shaking his head. "Where did all that diplomatic tact your human nobles used to have go?"
With a heavy thud, the Elder in Chief slammed his fist on the table and earned himself a second mug of barley beer.
"Mahakam remains neutral, but that doesn't mean we won't strike back when hit—on the contrary, we must make our stance clear." He drained the beer in one gulp. "Especially this time—Nilfgaard has really pissed me off!"
[Crash!]
Brouver smashed his mug directly on the table, shattering it. Meanwhile, Lann's smile only grew wider.
This wasn't just a personal grudge, some emotional outburst over being attacked—there were deeper considerations at play.
The dwarves' original plan had been to live quietly in their mountain stronghold, letting the outside world tear itself apart. Confident in the natural defenses of Mahakam, they believed no ruler could seize it by force. And besides, humans would always need a vast supply of weapons.
Even up until today, Mahakam had still been accepting orders from Nilfgaard.
But now Nilfgaard had used the Scoia'tael to extend its reach into Mahakam itself—and that was a serious problem. Even if the scheme ultimately failed, Brouver still needed to make his position clear—there would be no sweeping this under the rug.
"The reinforcements I'm sending you are mostly young lads without much experience," the Elder in Chief said gravely. "And I doubt you have any commanders who know how to lead heavy infantry. That's why I'm assigning Barclay as your commanding general. You can appoint a few of your own aides to work under him—use the opportunity to learn how to lead our dwarven soldiers!"
Mahakam's heavy infantry could serve as elite forces in any country. Soldiers of this caliber were so costly to maintain that even the royal families of the Four Great Kingdoms could only afford to keep a few thousand on active duty. But at the same time, if handed over to an unqualified commander, these soldiers might only operate at sixty or seventy percent of their true potential.
And Barclay was one of Mahakam's most skilled military commanders—the best possible choice to lead the heavy infantry. Gabor, Petrit, even Yarpen could learn under him. And once Barclay returned to Mahakam, the experience passed down could leave Cintra with several high-ranking officers capable of leading whole armies.
"In addition, your troops need reinforcements. I'll have Clan Ferenc send more men to bring your volunteer regiment up to three thousand," the Elder in Chief added with a cold snort. "Their youngsters are the ones who caused all this mess in the first place!"
Some of Ferenc's young dwarves had released prisoners from the dungeon without authorization and even colluded with the Scoia'tael. Though it was the work of just a few youths, the Elder in Chief was clearly set on making an example.
"I don't want those young ones who collaborated with the Scoia'tael. They already harbor hostility toward humans," Lann said firmly.
"They won't be leaving Mahakam again," the Elder in Chief said with a hearty laugh. "I've already sent them off to work the mines!"
Lann nodded with satisfaction.
"Barclay will also be bringing a personal guard regiment. All of them are battle-hardened veterans. The young dwarves entrusted to you by folks like Fuchs and the Zigrins will get the chance to learn more alongside them. Of course, that guard unit will return to Mahakam afterward—they're volunteers."
Lann nodded again. The original plan had been a mixed regiment of old soldiers and young recruits—decent overall, but uneven in quality. It could only be called a 'dwarven infantry regiment'. But now, with Mahakam sending in this volunteer force and removing the inexperienced youths, this had become a full-fledged Mahakam Heavy Infantry Regiment.
The remaining young dwarves could be assigned to logistics or other support roles, learning from their seniors as a reserve force.
After finishing his explanation, the Elder in Chief tilted his neck toward one of the dwarves behind him. Immediately, a dwarf warrior stepped forward and presented a box.
"And finally, the last thing—what I promised you before."
The box opened. Inside, nestled on a bed of crimson velvet, lay a lead ring.
Behind the Elder in Chief, the eyes of the dwarven ancestors seemed to focus on that very ring.
"This is just to add a bit of ceremony. From now on, anyone carrying this lead ring can apply for entry into Mahakam on their own. It'll also make future negotiations about weapon orders much smoother."
Lann accepted it without refusing—that sealed the beginning of a long-term partnership with Mahakam.
After that, they signed a series of agreements regarding wartime cooperation, with Lann promising equal treatment for the dwarves, among other points.
"Elder in Chief, you mentioned earlier that part of the urgency in wrapping up these proceedings is that something has changed on the Northern Front." Now that everything had been settled, Lann's attention returned to that matter. "Can you elaborate?"
The Elder in Chief nodded. "Even though you're heading back soon, you should be mentally prepared."
"To the best of my knowledge…"
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