West of Havillah and north of the sea were a group of mountains known collectively as the Hills of the Hole-diggers. If the mountains had any other name it was known only to the Hole-diggers themselves, and they were not inclined to share their secrets with outsiders. When Aeral had been ruled by its right king they had walked the land trading their fine metal work for the wood, clay, and cloth objects the other inhabitants did not make themselves. When Markin overthrew Traeven and began his reign of Aeral travel became dangerous and trading and buying illegal, so the Hole-diggers retreated to their hills and dug their tunnels and caves deeper into the mountain-side. They spent many silent years sharpening their arrows and strengthening swords.

The entrance of each family's cave was nearly invisible. Clever stone masonry made each joint so tightly fitted, and each corner so cunningly contrived, that careless passers-by would see only a rough wall or an inconspicuous pile of stones. Behind the doors were rooms sized according to the wealth of the owner. Some were no more than shallow caves, barely thirty feet into the mountainside; others were as large as castles, delving deep into the heart of the Hills. The door to each home was carved in the language of the Hole-diggers with the name of the owner. The writing though would seem to your eyes no more then the natural way that stone chips and wears away by time.

To one such of these doors came the swift feet of Ashhar, messenger of Meunin. In one hand he held a message written on a scroll and in the other a detailed description and sketch of a particular door. Stopping in front of a smooth wall of the mountain he stamped his foot twice on the ground and cried out loudly"To Bazaluth, Chief of the Hole-diggers, from Meunin, Leader of the Wise and the Faithful, once King of the Great Alliance and Lord of Havillah still - Hail"

After a moment there was a scraping noise and the stone wall moved backward a few inches. After a short pause the wall, which was of course one of the very doors I have just described, moved several feet back and slid to the right smoothly as if it ran on some sort of track. The opening it left was about five feet tall and five feet wide. Leaning against one side of the door frame was a young Hole-digger.

The Hole-diggers are, as you may have guessed, of Dwarf-kind, being at most four feet high and being nearly as far across as they are tall. They are gruff and war-like, more likely to sharpen a blade in time of rest than to sing a song. Yet for all their roughness they make beautiful things from iron, steel, gold, and silver. All the nations of Aeral once came to the Hole-diggers to be fitted for war. Under the mountains there was a constant glow from many forges. If they ever sing it is as they hammer steel, and the songs are strong and fierce – songs of war and weapons.

The Hole-digger who greeted Ashhar at the door was about three feet tall with thick black hair pulled in a severe knot at the nape of the neck away from a square, reddish face. She was a house-maid, for the owner of this cave was well-to-do and his cave was the largest of all, and he had to hire many servants to keep it clean and running well. The maid dropped a clumsy bow to Ashhar and murmured for him to follow her to her master.

Ashhar ducked through the door and was surprised to find himself in a large hall. The room was lit by fires in cast iron braziers that threw shadows onto the roof some thirty feet above. The floor had been patterned to look like tile, and iron statues were placed about the room, giving it more a feeling of a courtyard then a room indoors. The maid halted impatiently at the far side of the hall as Ashhar inspected his surroundings. He heard her clear her throat, a harsh sound that echoed off the walls, and hurried to follow her. She led him through more passages and rooms then he could count, until the realization of how deep into the mountain he was nearly smothered him. When they had passed from the largest and grandest halls, no doubt rooms with grand important purposes, they came into a place where the ceiling was lower overhead and the hallways were narrower. This Ashhar judged to be the living quarters of the family. They halted at last before a plain wooden door and the maid told him to wait while she announced him to the master. He leaned against the cool wall of the passage way and tried not to think of earthquakes or landslides.

He had barely caught his breath when the maid came back through the door and told Ashhar to enter the room beyond. He nodded his thanks and tiptoed into the fire lit room beyond. When his eyes had adjusted to the different light he saw the he was in a much smaller room than any he had yet been in. His head brushed the ceiling and a few paces would have taken him across the length of the room. Stone shelves, beautifully carved into the walls around the room, held few books (those of war and the art of metal work) and many tools and weapons. By the fireplace was a low seat in which the only occupant of the room sat. He was a bit larger then the maid, perhaps four feet when standing, and his grizzled black hair stood out all over his head and face. He was dressed for casual lounging in woolen breeches and cotton shirt, but on his feet he wore a pair of wooden and leather shoes that had a curved metal spike on the toe. He turned to look on Ashhar with gleaming dark eyes.

Motioning at the fire with a rough hand he said"The smoke flows through a find mesh screen, knocking the ash back on the fire. The smoke is then forced through dozens of small outlets where it is released all over the mountains. 'Mountains of Smoke' they're called by the people of the West." He looked at Ashhar and seemed to expect a reply.

Ashhar had not asked about the fire but he nodded as if he was getting the answer to a question"It's a very ingenious design. That way no one knows that you are here in these caves."

The Hole-digger gave a short bark of a laugh. "Not our design. It's the design of those Star-gazers. They're much better at deceit then our people ever were. Whenever their heads aren't in the clouds they are inventing some new magic that will woo the locals to their side."

Ashhar shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. The feud between the Star-gazers and Hole-diggers was legendary, even though no outsiders knew how it started. The dwarves claimed that they did not share their secrets with others, but many in Aeral held to the view that the dwarves themselves did not remember the cause of the feud but were too stubborn to let it go. Whatever the case was, Ashhar did not have time, nor inclination, to sit listening to an old Hole-digger revive the feud. "I am looking for Bazaluth, Chief "

The other interrupted him."Chief of the Hole-diggers. I know. My maid relayed your whole speech to me. I noticed though that you gave a lot more titles to your king than you did to me. I could think of a lot more to add." The Hole-digger laughed a hacking sort of cough and fumbled in a chest near his feet until he found a piece of red flannel that he tied around his throat. "Helps the coughing, see." He explained.

Ashhar cleared his throat softly and said"Then you're Bazaluth"

"In the flesh." The old dwarf said standing from his chair and bowing slightly. Though he knew better how to do it, still his bow did not have much more grace than that of his little maid.

The messenger bowed, now on familiar ground and began his message in his most officious, grand manner. "I am Ashhar, messenger of Meunin, Leader of -" It was going beautifully, in the most melodious of tones, envied by every other messenger, but once again he was interrupted.

"Yes, yes," growled Bazaluth, plopping himself back in his chair, "No need to go through all the titles again. Etc, etc. will do." Ashhar opened his mouth, but Bazaluth spoke again"Oh, please sit! My wife tells me I am lacking in all courtesy. 'Courtesy makes for long delays,' I tell her, but she insists. Here sit" motioning Ashhar to a chair. If Ashhar was thinking that idle talk makes even longer delays he kept that thought to himself.

Trying once again to get to the point of his visit he said"I am Ashhar" Again his host interrupted. "You said that part. Ashhar, eh? Rather odd name that. In the old tongue it means 'to hear death,'" he gave a great bark of laughter that rather startled Ashhar. "I hope that's not an omen. Perhaps I should see you out before some ill befalls me, eh" He raised his eyebrows and leaned close to the messenger.

"My- my mother died soon after hearing my first cries. She called me Ashhar because my voice to her was the voice of death" Ashhar stuttered.

"And then some fool thought it would be amusing to let you be a messenger for Meunin," he stopped a moment to savor the irony then continued. "Every time you say your name you say, 'Hear Death!' and the very next thing that comes from your mouth is, 'I bring you a message.'" His startling laugh erupted again"What a merry joke" When the last of his guffaws faded away he sat and looked expectantly at Ashhar. The poor messenger said nothing, though. The last comment had rendered Ashhar speechless.

"Speak messenger, speak" said Bazaluth with an irritated motion. "What did Meunin find of so great importance that he sent a messenger all the way here" Ashhar made a muted grunt as he tried to gather his thoughts but Bazaluth growled out"You do not talk! Did your king send a mute to relay a message"

Ashhar decided that it was useless to attempt to speak again and merely handed the scroll to Bazaluth with no further ceremony. "About time," the dwarf grumbled. Bazaluth broke the seal and cast it carelessly into the fire, unrolling the scroll and scanning it quickly. His eyes grew large as he read and a fell look came into his eyes.

When he had finished the scroll dropped unheeded from his hand onto the floor; his eyes stared unseeingly at the wall. After a long silence he spoke hoarsely"So the line of the kings of Aeral is not broken. An heir has been found - one who could take up the throne and overthrow Markin."

Bazaluth's eyes burned brighter than the fire when he turned to Ashhar. "I, my people, we have waited long for this. We have needed only a word, a thought, a breath of uprising against Markin to be ready to fight. We will come. Take this message back to your lord of Havillah:

"The Hole-digger comes

Chief of his kin

Three Times

Bow before the Queen of the Door.

The mighty dwarf drums

Will sound again

Three Times!

Hole-diggers go to War"

Ashhar leapt from his chair and sped back through the labyrinth halls to relay the message. Bazaluth, meanwhile, collected his fierce weapons from the shelves in the room and trotted to the smithy to sharpen them.