Near the Mahakam mountain range.
Half a day later.
Since we took off late in the evening, by morning we could already see a huge mountain range practically in the middle of this part of the Continent.
Compared to the Blue or Dragon Mountains, it was small, but…
Much more populated and filled with iron and other ores, according to the elves.
Well, and my mother sometimes mentioned that you shouldn’t look for jewels there — in that regard, these mountains are poor and are by no means Erebor.
From which, by the way, according to rumors, the capital mountain of Mahakam — Mount Carbon — was copied.
In fact, it now stood before us in all its enormous splendor, against the background of which even my twenty-meter frame seems ti-i-iny.
And since memories of Erebor surfaced in my head, associations immediately came about the extremely negative experience of interactions between short-statured races living in big mountains and various sentient dragons.
So, without thinking twice, we decided to approach the capital of the dwarves and gnomes in elven forms.
Transforming far from any possible observers, we headed straight for the above-ground part of the main settlement complex.
We spent a fair amount of time, and in the local snowy terrain, we suffered quite a bit from the cold, which our elven forms perceived much worse than our real ones, which literally possessed…
Hm, internal heating.
We didn’t start showing off our magic either, deciding to save the element of surprise in case of a conflict.
One way or another, we trudged to the place we needed.
This is exactly where the dwarves and the gnomes living alongside them make contact with the outside world and the other races, including humans, who, in the person of Temeria, have been licking their lips at such a huge source of high-quality steel and products made from it for a long time.
So it was no surprise that there were humans among the local visitors standing in line.
They immediately fixed suspicious gazes on our long ears, and some even bore barely restrained hatred…
Alright, I’ll be honest, there were quite a lot of them.
But they kept their mouths shut — because if anyone tried to start a brawl, or worse, murder, the dwarves in heavy armor with hefty-looking maces would turn the insolent into mincemeat.
The physical strength of these short folk was impressive, and even I didn’t particularly want to test whether I could catch a mace with my bare hand in this form…
And again, it’s not worth showing off magic before the time is right.
“Cursed elf…” came a vicious hiss from one of the young men, almost a teenager, dressed in…
Hm…
Yes, those are definitely Aedirn’s colors.
“What an amusing place…” purposely putting on the most arrogant face I could (thanks to Francesca’s father for the constant example before my eyes), I walked past the man with such indifference that I heard his teeth grind.
“There’s a lot of guards here…
And the fortifications are solid.
No ballistae here, but fire probably won’t take these walls…” Nimue replied thoughtfully, brushing the remnants of snow that had fallen on us from her hair.
“Well, yes, I suppose in that regard, dwarves and gnomes are the most protected creatures,” I agreed, figuring this was the last place I’d want to attack.
If the dwarves come out into an open field, or even better — a forest, they’re a hundred percent done for, even crossbows won’t help much.
But here, on their own territory, I couldn’t even smoke them out by burning the oxygen with fire — the caves are too big and there must be too many secret passages.
Erebor was hollow enough inside for Smaug to feel quite comfortable there, but here, according to elven records, there are many smaller rooms and passages between them.
Where even an elf or a human would have trouble turning around, let alone a hulking form like mine?..
“…Right.
So, an elf and an elfess…” a dwarf with parchment and a quill ran his appraising gaze over our slightly snow-dusted figures.
“What are your names, who are you, and why have you come?
We don’t just let anyone into the underground part, you know that,” this owner of a magnificent beard asked the three sacred questions of every guard.
Hmm, maybe I should have come in the guise of old man Merlin?
Maybe they’d have respected me for my beard in that form…
But choosing between a handsome man and an old man…
I’d pick the former.
I’ll only need the latter for my plans, and ideally these personas shouldn’t cross paths too much for the general public.
Those who need to know will understand, but the common folk…
Nope.
“My name is Merlin.
And my companion…” I gestured toward the golden dragoness disguised as an elf.
“Nimue.
Here are our letters of credence from the Elder of Shaerrawedd, the Knowing One, Simlas Fina aep Dabair.” I wasn’t a fool and understood they wouldn’t let us down into the depths of the city so easily.
That’s where the masters capable of building the best dragon lair are, and we would have had to turn into dragons to give our words any weight.
As it was, the letter of credence presented us as important persons of unspecified rank.
“Keep in mind — murder of humans is forbidden here,” the dwarf warned us, making a stern face and nodding toward the guards in plate armor.
“Especially since down below there are only various important people of human kings…” he grumbled afterward, drawing a slight smile from me.
“We’re not from that radical youth the White Rose leads,” I replied just as calmly, meeting the short man’s attentive gaze.
He glanced at the humans, apparently calculated something in his head, and nodded more calmly.
“Alright, I’ll believe you.
The letters are genuine,” he returned the parchments to us, looking at us with far more trust than before.
As they say, without a paper you’re a nobody, even if you’re a dragon.
“Then there’s just the answer to my last question.”
“We came here to place a rather unusual order, which discussing here…” I glanced at the line behind us and the humans loitering around for no apparent reason.
They don’t go inside, but they don’t want to leave either.
Spies for the kings, maybe?
That’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.
“Wouldn’t be too wise.
But rest assured, it has nothing to do with the ongoing war, and your neutrality is not threatened.
If you think otherwise, you can always refuse,” I shrugged, my face an ironclad mask of calm.
“An order…
Hmm.
Alright, I’ll issue you a permit for a three-day stay.
Within that time, after three cycles of day and night, you must leave Carbon or provide grounds for further stay — ongoing deal negotiations, illness, injury…
You can find a more detailed list at the migration department,” the dwarf told us matter-of-factly, scribbling some squiggles on the parchment and soon handing us those very permits.
“Have a pleasant stay in Mahakam, elves, and may Alita be with you.”
Remembering that this was the name of the Goddess of Earth and Fertility, practically the only deity the dwarves and gnomes worship, I nodded to the bearded man and moved on so as not to hold up the line any longer.
Which, again, consisted mostly of dwarves and gnomes.
“It’s uncomfortable here…” Nimue shared her impressions almost immediately as we headed down a huge staircase, about twenty meters wide, descending into the depths.
The steps were equally convenient for both tall and short races, though you rarely saw the former here.
Craftsmanship, what can you say.
“And we’re the last ones who should feel comfortable here,” I shrugged, treating it like another trip on the subway.
“It should only be more uncomfortable for birds…
And remember, you’re not just one of us…” it was clear I was hinting at dragons, the rightful Lords of the Heavens.
Again, not worth showing off these two things yet.
They could fatally surprise our enemies, if they show up here.
“Hmm-m-m…” the golden-haired woman exhaled thoughtfully.
“Yes, that does make it easier…
Just think…
The sorcery of the dw…
of the locals helps us, us!
Helps us avoid suspicion.”
“Everything happens for the first time in life,” I noted philosophically, and we walked the rest of the way to the giant underground city of dwarves and gnomes in complete silence.
Only the dwarves and gnomes going up and down broke our silent idyll.
Which ended when we reached our destination.
Well…
The elven records weren’t lying.
The city of Carbon, sharing its name with the mountain, was monstrously huge — after all, it was the largest settlement of these two short races, apparently even related to each other, unlike the somewhat similar elves and humans.
…Well, I take back my words about not being able to turn around here.
I can turn around just fine, though I definitely can’t fly out and they’d shoot me down faster than I could burn everything here…
And anyway, tsk-tsk-tsk, where are such destructive thoughts coming from?
I came here in peace for the creators, not for war.
The last people I have business with are the local equivalent of dwarves, who have nothing but steel and smithing skill.
And there must be architects and stoneworkers here, since they created all this inside a huge cave, which grew from an ordinary mining town.
Though that’s what it was like a couple of thousand years ago, if I again trust the elven sources, which are currently my only possible confirmation of knowledge from the canon.
I’m not a fool, again, but a perfectly capable wizard and sage, so I wouldn’t fail to verify the knowledge from my reality, right…
The city itself was very large.
But besides residential buildings, there were also many workshops, shops, taverns, and various other structures…
After all, it was a whole city that produced far more than just metal goods, and was practically self-sufficient…
Only buying various agricultural products from elves and partially from humans.
“Do you know where to go?” Nimue asked, tilting her head to the side as she admired the local settlement along with me.
“Very roughly.” To the place all adventurers go at least once.
“But I assume the locals will help us with that.
They don’t let just anyone from other races in here, so even the locals, essentially isolationists, shouldn’t pick a fight with us,” I explained the situation, after which we began descending to the main part of the city, located below everything, beyond a huge underground gorge into which the local underground waters flowed, their flow lines thoroughly improved.
“I’ve never seen so many dw…
beings in one place…” my companion admitted in passing, curiously glancing around at the locals and receiving equally interested glances in return.
They don’t often see anyone over a hundred and fifty centimeters tall here, right.
But that’s too low a joke, and from my side, again, it would be too low to make such a joke.
I should be a highly moral sage and wizard with a high reputation.
Laughing inwardly at my own simple jokes, I soon reached the local…
Yes, there were taverns in the underground too, where dwarves and gnomes tired after a workday could drink, chat…
Maybe even fight.
And as usual, the local workers should know a lot about…
Yes, yes, work.
Because they constantly hear the patrons, who are what?
Tha-a-at’s right — workers.
Just not of the tavern.
“Greetings,” I smiled amiably, not at all embarrassed by the dozens of eyes that stared at us upon entry.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, gentlemen dwarves and gnomes,” I nodded imperturbably, calmly striding over to the tavern keeper.
“What can I get you…
Master elf?” a thick-bearded gnome inquired as I sat down on one of the stools in front of him.
“I can’t guarantee you’ll find anything to your taste here…
But it’s your business.
You’re a customer.” And as befits any bartender, including a medieval one, he was constantly polishing his legendary glass.
Or in our case, an impressive steel mug.
“Hmm…” I kept smiling, knowing that my dragon body, even in this form, could handle a considerable amount of alcohol.
I suspect even more than the locals.
“What’s the strongest thing you’ve got?”
Well, let’s use the universal method of befriending short bearded men and master smiths — getting drunk!
Besides, every transmigrator into fantasy is simply obligated to try to outdrink a dwarf!
Well, if they ended up, gods forbid, not in a dark fantasy.
Though even there, there are options.
“The strongest?” He looked over our figures, sizing up my build, which was somewhat more impressive than the average elf’s.
“Since you’re guests here, I’ll be forced to leave you outside if…
When you lose consciousness,” the dwarf generously warned, continuing to wipe the steel mug.
I doubt there’s much hygiene in that, even if he washes it with soap afterward.
But it’s fine, a dragon’s body is strong, and I’ve never gotten sick in this elven form.
Not even a runny nose.
“When, you say?” I latched onto a very convenient slip of the tongue for me.
“What if we make a small bet?” I asked with a slight, unreadable smile, leaning forward a little and flashing my golden eyes.
The dwarf tensed slightly at my rather thin, but still elongated pupils, though he didn’t show it much.
“What kind of bet?” he asked anyway, clearly guessing what I was about to propose, because a tavern keeper can’t be a fool.
Loving fun and gambling…
That’s one part of his race’s characteristics.
I had no doubt the fish would take the bait.
I did have money to pay for information, but I’d like to save it…
Where did I get money when I’m as poor as a church mouse?
Wee-e-ell…
If Mom does an inventory of her treasures, she might-possibly notice a shortage of dwarf coins, bu-u-ut…
She’ll never do that, and even a dragon can’t determine the exact number of their treasures, no matter what various rumors among humans and elves say, right.
But let me get back to the dwarf waiting for my answer.
“It’s simple.
First, tell me how many mugs of the strongest alcohol in your tavern you think I can handle?” I asked with a confident expression, resting my chin on my palm. Find the original chapter at novelping.com.
“You…
Well…
Let’s aim high…
Two.
Maybe two and a half…” the man looked me over with obvious doubt.
“Well, that’s without any sorcery…”
“Then the bet is as follows…” I grinned predatorily, instantly making the dwarf suspicious and even stop polishing his mug.
“If I drink four mugs of the strongest stuff in your tavern, you’ll answer my questions, as long as they don’t bring you any negative…
that is, bad consequences.”
“I’m educated enough to know those words, elf,” the dwarf frowned slightly, finally setting aside the mug he was polishing.
“But I’ll only accept the bet if you have something to pay with…
In case you lose, of course.
Because I don’t give anything for free…
And…
I’m not thinking about your victory, of course…
But I’d be a real miser if my tavern becomes famous because of you and I don’t squeeze the money out of you for it!..”
“I have something,” I nodded in agreement, as the fish finally swallowed the float too.
“Is this enough?” Several silver coins landed on the table.
“You elves keep coins of very old mintage, of course…
But they’re still in circulation…
So, let’s go.
Your first mug of pure High Carbon Ale is coming right up…” the dwarf snorted confidently, to which I only replied with a polite smile, trying not to burst out laughing at the name of the booze.
That would be very uncultured…
Very low of me…
Communication etiquette, Merlin, communication etiquette!
It’s not a myth, you have it!
“Are you really going to drink that?” Nimue finally demonstrated that very communication etiquette, not interrupting our conversation earlier.
“Dwarves live quite close together and all know each other.
Plus, the structure of their society, based on clans, fosters many acquaintances and connections,” I began explaining what Borch should have told her properly in the first place.
What a…
Lazy bum.
All he can do is fool around with those two hot Zerrekanian women!
“Here, of course, they won’t tell us what we need.
And in the next place they send us to, they won’t either.
But eventually, they’ll hear about us, and the dwarves or gnomes who know what we need will come to us themselves.”
“I see…” my companion (not yet of life) seemed to be seriously pondering this, and I turned to the tavern keeper who had returned to us.
“Here, take it.
And keep in mind — if you pass out, you’ll still be sleeping outside my tavern,” the bearded man warned me for the second time, and at that moment, the gazes of all the patrons, which had faded during our conversation with the tavern keeper, were once again fixed on us.
Nevertheless, I didn’t reply, but took the mug, sniffed the ale, then turned so everyone-everyone-everyone could see the process, and…
began to literally drain the entire iron vessel in one gulp.
“Phew…” I exhaled sharply, quickly licking the remnants of alcohol from my lips with a flick of my tongue.
“Not bad…” I muttered, feeling the stuff hitting even my system quite nicely.
But still, I can handle the other three, even if I’ll start to get a bit wobbly at the end.
But definitely without losing consciousness.
“Ho!” the bearded man looked at me with far more respect now.
“But you’ve still got three left.
I’ll get them all at once…
I have a feeling this is going to be interesting!”
“Bring ’em on, bring ’em on…” I grinned, already anticipating the locals’ wide eyes.
Within a minute, three iron mugs were sitting in front of me…
And deciding to show off a bit, I pretended to get ready, showed my hands to indicate I wasn’t using any sorcery, and right under dozens of gazes, I started chugging the second mug.
“The local ale is good, but…
A bit weak,” I declared with a grin, and while the dwarves were slowly starting to process what I’d said and get indignant, I started on the third mug.
…And under the now frankly stunned gazes of the local regulars, I emptied the last one — the fourth.
Such a rapid chugging of such strong alcohol did hit my seven-layered dragon body, forcing me to exhale for a long time, and then shake my head.
The intoxication was becoming quite noticeable, but to knock me completely out — I’d need another dozen or two.
“…Alita’s tits…” the tavern keeper used the common local expression, staring at me with wide eyes.
“That’s not the strongest ale of our people, just the strongest I have, but…
Alita’s tits, you sure you didn’t use sorcery?”
“You saw my hands yourself,” I shrugged, crossing my legs contentedly.
“I didn’t do anything suspicious with them, and I didn’t say anything.
You can even check my clothes — but just so you know, when you don’t find anything there, you’ll offend me.
And I have a Book of Grudges, where I write down all those who wrong me…
And I live a lo-o-ong time…” I stretched the truth a bit so I wouldn’t actually have to show my clothes, since there really was nothing there.
“Nah, I won’t do that,” my interlocutor waved a mighty hand.
“A loss is a loss…
Elf…
By the way, what’s your name?”
“Merlin,” I replied.
“And my companion is Nimue.”
“So, Merlin…” he paid almost no attention to the golden-haired dragoness under disguise.
Well, she doesn’t have a beard…
“Oh, right!
I’m Einar.
There.
What was it you wanted to ask me that was worth you chugging four mugs of High Carbon Ale?..”
“Well then…” I turned more comfortably on my stool to face this Einar and uncrossed my legs.
“I’m interested in the following things…”