The grinding sound intensified, vibrating through the very rock beneath their feet, echoing the frantic hammering of Lunrik's heart. The thin line of yellow light outlining the massive Cog Gate widened, spilling warm, artificial illumination onto the narrow, windswept ledge, a stark contrast to the cold moonlight. Billows of pressurized steam hissed violently from vents around the circular gear-and-anvil emblem, momentarily obscuring the opening mechanism. The air suddenly smelled different – warmer, carrying the distinct scent of hot metal, coal smoke, and something else… oil? Minerals? The scent of a world beneath the mountain.
Lunrik held his breath, pressing himself flatter against the cliff face, shielding Eryndor as best he could. Kaelith was a study in tense stillness beside him, her knife held ready but low, her eyes narrowed, trying to pierce the steam and light pouring from the opening gate. Eryndor moaned again, conscious enough now to perceive the grinding noise, the light, the change in atmosphere, his fear palpable even in his weakened state.
Slowly, ponderously, the immense section of rock and reinforced metal began to slide inwards, retracting into the cliff face with astonishingly smooth, complex mechanics. Colossal gears, thick as ancient trees, turned silently within the gate mechanism, visible now in the growing opening. The sheer scale of the engineering was breathtaking, dwarfing anything Lunrik or even Alaric had ever conceived. This wasn't just a door; it was a moving mountain segment, a testament to centuries of Dwarven mastery over stone and steel.
Warm, yellow light flooded the ledge as the gate opened fully, revealing a vast tunnel leading into the mountain's heart. The tunnel wasn't rough-hewn rock, but perfectly smooth, arched, and lined with polished metal plates interspersed with glowing panels that provided the steady, warm illumination. Pipes and conduits ran along the ceiling and walls, humming faintly with contained power. The air pouring out felt warm, almost stuffy compared to the biting wind outside.
Standing just inside the threshold, silhouetted against the bright interior light, were figures. Dwarves. But not the grizzled, solitary trapper type Lunrik might have half-expected based on surface legends. These were guards, clad in heavy, articulated plate armour crafted from dark, burnished steel and bronze, intricately decorated with the same gear-and-anvil motif seen on the gate. They wore heavy, enclosed helmets with narrow visors, obscuring their faces. Each carried a formidable weapon – not axes or hammers, as legends often depicted, but strange, stocky implements that looked like a hybrid of a heavy crossbow and some kind of pressurized steam projector, tubes running from the weapon to tanks on their backs. Steam vented softly from their armour joints. There were four of them, standing in a perfectly symmetrical, disciplined formation, their weapons held at a ready, non-aggressive but clearly prepared stance.
Behind the four guards, standing slightly back in the tunnel entrance, was another figure. Shorter, broader than the guards, clad not in armour but in thick, well-made leather and wool garments adorned with intricate metallic brooches and tool loops. This dwarf had a long, intricately braided grey beard tucked into a heavy belt, a stern, deeply lined face, and sharp, intelligent eyes beneath bushy brows that took in Lunrik, Kaelith, and Eryndor with an expression of extreme suspicion and profound displeasure. He held no weapon, but carried an undeniable air of authority, perhaps a foreman, engineer, or guild master.
For a long moment, absolute silence reigned, broken only by the howl of the wind outside and the faint hum of the dwarven technology within the tunnel. The dwarven guards remained motionless, their weapons steady. The stern-faced dwarf surveyed the unexpected arrivals on his threshold – two weary werewolves, one clearly Dravenwolf, the other harder to place but radiating a strange intensity, carrying an unconscious Frostmane and a bizarre, damaged energy rifle. His frown deepened, lines carving themselves into his weathered face.
Kaelith broke the silence first, keeping her voice low and steady, respectful but not subservient. "Greetings from the surface," she said clearly, using the common Lykandran tongue. "We seek passage, or perhaps shelter. We are pursued."
The stern dwarf's eyes narrowed further. He spoke, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble that seemed to echo from the stone around them. His Lykandran was heavily accented, guttural, but understandable. "Surface dwellers. Werewolves. And a Frostmane runt." His gaze lingered dismissively on Eryndor. "The Cog Gate has been sealed to your kind for centuries, by decree of the Mountain King and the Guild Council. There is no passage. There is no shelter. State your purpose for defiling this threshold, before my guards offer you a swifter journey back down the mountain." His tone was utterly uncompromising, laced with ancient distrust.
"We followed tracks here," Lunrik spoke up, trying to keep his voice even, fighting the urge to react defensively. He shifted Eryndor's weight slightly. "Tracks of others who came this way shortly before us. They disappeared at this gate."
The dwarf stroked his braided beard, his sharp eyes flicking momentarily towards the faint prints near the gate entrance, then back to Lunrik. "Indeed? And who pursues you that you seek refuge in Grimfang Deep?"
"Ashfang warriors, under orders from Magdra Ashgrim," Kaelith supplied quickly. "They captured the Frostmane, seeking knowledge of passes. And… others. Unknown hunters using strange weapons, tracking us all." She deliberately omitted mentioning the technology the hunters used, unsure how the dwarves might react to news of advanced non-dwarven tech operating nearby.
The mention of Magdra Ashgrim caused a flicker of something – hostile recognition? – in the stern dwarf's eyes. But it was the mention of "strange weapons" and "unknown hunters" that seemed to truly capture his attention. His gaze sharpened, becoming analytical. He looked from Kaelith to Lunrik, his eyes lingering for a fraction of a second longer on Lunrik, perhaps sensing the hidden Stigma or the residue of the curse, or maybe just puzzled by the battered energy rifle Lunrik carried.
"Unknown hunters?" the dwarf pressed, his voice losing some of its dismissiveness, replaced by cautious interest. "Describe these weapons."
Before Lunrik or Kaelith could answer, one of the armoured guards stiffened, turning his helmeted head slightly as if listening to something Lunrik couldn't hear – perhaps an internal communication system. The guard spoke, his voice distorted by the helmet's acoustics, harsh and metallic. "Forgemaster Borin! Proximity alert! Surface sensors detect multiple signatures approaching rapidly from the east glacier sector! Energy readings consistent with… previous anomaly!"
The hunters. They hadn't given up. They had likely tracked Lunrik and Kaelith to the cliff base.
The stern dwarf – Forgemaster Borin – reacted instantly. His cautious interest vanished, replaced by hardened resolve. "Seal the gate!" he barked. To the guards, he snapped, "Containment formation! Weapons ready! Repel all surface intruders!" To Lunrik and Kaelith, his voice was like grinding granite: "Inside! Now! Both of you! Bring the runt! You are hazards, but hazards within are better than unknown threats battering the Gate!"
There was no time to argue, no time to weigh options. The massive stone gate began to groan, preparing to slide shut again. The dwarven guards shifted formation, their strange steam-powered weapons humming, aimed outwards towards the glacier. The choice was made for them. Dragging the still barely conscious Eryndor, flanked by wary dwarven guards, Lunrik and Kaelith stumbled across the threshold, into the warm, humming, lamplit depths of Grimfang Deep, just as the colossal Cog Gate began to seal the mountain behind them, shutting out the howling wind, the icy peaks, and the rapidly approaching, unknown enemy. They had found passage, of a sort, but they were now effectively prisoners within the legendary, hostile kingdom beneath the mountain.