Chapter 17

Those couple of days of downtime were great for Marion. It gave her time to rebuild her forge from the ground up. She felt rejuvenated, spending time at her forge was a great boon to her. Marion was sitting in front of her fireplace, sipping spiced cider from a mug. She took a brief look at her stat screen and saw the system finally recognized her skill in blacksmithing!

Fire has always soothed Marion, either in a forge or a fireplace. There was something hypnotic and soothing about watching a flame dance and consume. By the time the fire consumed the wood Marion found herself dosing off, so she pushed herself out of her chair and headed to bed.

The next day Marion met the group that was going to the future site of the quarry. There were two wagons that have been upgraded to be able to carry the stone. Instead of looking like only the wheels had an upgrade, they looked like entirely new wagons!

Marion’s eyes settled on the newly-built wagon near the edge of the village—easily twice the size of the old supply carts Ironhaven once relied on. The reinforced bed stretched nearly fifteen feet long and eight feet wide, deep enough to hold cut stone blocks without risking a spill. Its four-foot-high sidewalls could be folded down or removed entirely for easier loading.

Each wheel stood five feet tall, banded in thick iron and studded for grip, built to handle rough, uneven trails from the quarry. The frame itself was built from ironwood beams as thick as a man’s leg, with cross-bracing of steel running beneath for support. The axles were thicker than a smith’s anvil, runed for load-bearing, and could easily support several tons of stone.

A four-beast yoke system sat at the front, designed for powerful draft creatures, while a lever-operated brake system ensured the wagon wouldn’t slip on steep grades.

The wagons rumbled to a halt at the edge of the quarry site. The place was raw and untouched, veins of stone poking through the earth like ancient ribs. The early sun glinted off the rocky escarpments, casting long shadows across the scrubby grass.

Marion jumped down first, stretching her shoulders. “Alright,” she called to the others, “start unloading the gear—we’ll mark the cut lines after a quick survey.”

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A few villagers peeled back the sidewalls of the lead wagon, exposing the stacked tools, barrels of water, and freshly forged chisels and wedges. The second wagon creaked as they lowered the rear gate.

Then everything stopped.

One of the younger workers froze, pointing toward the stone outcrop just beyond the wagons. “Uh… who’s that?”

Standing atop a low ridge was a Brimling. He hadn’t been there a moment ago, but now he stood motionless, his moss-draped form nearly blending in with the stone and lichen behind him. His cloak swayed faintly in the breeze, its woven reeds and glinting shell pieces catching the light like dew.

The elder’s skin was the dark hue of river mud, patterned with faint silver speckles. Webbed fingers wrapped around a crooked driftwood cane.

“Don’t be alarmed,” Marion said calmly, stepping forward. “That’s a Brimling elder.”

The elder spoke without moving from the stone. “You can call me

Dromli Kesh.”

He finally began descending the ridge—slow, deliberate steps that made no sound. “I felt the earth shiver this morning. A new wound about to be made. And I thought… I should come see who holds the blade.”

Marion nodded once. “We’re starting a quarry. For Ironhaven. We need the stone.”

Dromli came to a stop beside the wagon, gaze drifting over the tools and supplies. “And so you have brought your teeth to carve the earth. Good teeth. Strong. But even strong teeth crack if you bite the wrong thing.”

Marion crossed her arms. “We’re not here to take recklessly. This land is part of what we’re building. We’ll honor it.”

“Then honor it first, before the first stone falls,” Dromli said, lifting a small object from within his cloak. He placed it gently on the edge of the wagon: a smooth river stone etched with runes, still damp with morning dew. “Place this at the first cut. It will sing to the stone, and to the water sleeping beneath.”

One of the workers stepped forward nervously. “What… happens if we don’t?”

The elder Brimling didn’t smile, but there was a strange shimmer in his throat as he replied: “Then the stone remembers your hunger… but not your name.”

Silence fell over the work crew.

Marion stepped forward and took the stone with both hands, giving a solemn nod. “It’ll be done.”

Dromli’s wide eyes blinked once behind his lenses. “Good. Then may your quarry be fruitful… and your walls stand for more than just keeping things out.”

And with that, he turned, descending into a narrow crevice between two slabs of stone. By the time anyone thought to follow, he was already gone.

Marion calls out to the rest of the crews “Let’s get this quarry set up, it won’t build itself”