TWO DAYS LATER - MAHAKAM -
The road to Mahakam wound through the mountains like a serpent carved from stone, its surface rough and uneven, its edges dropping away into misty chasms, the air grew thinner as they climbed, cooler and crisper. The landscape shifted around them, the rolling hills of Temeria giving way to jagged peaks and deep valleys.
Sebastian sat near the window of the carriage, his yellow eyes fixed on the unfolding panorama. The mountains rose around them, their peaks piercing the sky, their sides scarred with the marks of ancient glaciers. The road wound through narrow passes and across stone bridges that spanned chasms so deep that their bottoms were lost in shadow. It was a land that had been shaped by forces far older than the kingdoms of men.
Triss leaned forward. "You are taking this in, aren't you? I can see it in your eyes. your first time in Mahakam, must be special."
Sebastian nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving the landscape. "It is. I have heard stories, of course, from Vesemir and Geralt about Mahakam. The dwarven kingdoms, the mountain fortresses, the forges that never sleep." He paused. "But hearing about it and seeing it are two different things. This place is... ancient. You can feel it."
Dandelion stretched in his seat. "Mahakam is a marvel, to be sure. The dwarves have built their civilization into the bones of the mountains themselves. Their cities are carved from rock, their halls are vast and warm, and their ale..." He paused, a dreamy expression crossing his face. "Their ale is the stuff of legends. I have had many adventures in these mountains, and I have never been disappointed."
Zoltan snorted as he said in pride. "Aye, ye speak of our home as if it were a tavern, Dandelion. But ye are not wrong. The mountains are our mother and our father. They give us shelter, they give us strength, and they give us the finest ore in the world." He paused, his eyes growing distant. "I have not been back in many years. It feels... strange, to see them again."
The carriage rounded a bend, and the city of Mount Carbon came into view.
It was not a city in the way that Vizima or Novigrad were cities. It was carved into the mountain itself, its walls rising from the rock as if they had grown there. Towers of stone and iron jutted from the peaks. The streets were carved into the cliffs, winding up and down the slopes like the veins of a leaf. And at the heart of it all, a great hall of stone and fire rose above the rest, its doors wide open, its windows glowing with warmth.
Sebastian's voice carried a note of quiet awe. "It is magnificent."
Dandelion said with enthusiasm. "Wait until you see the inside! The dwarves do not build for show, my friend."
Zoltan's voice was soft. "Aye, it is good to be home. I had forgotten how much I missed the smell of the forges and the sound of the hammers.."
The carriage rolled through the gates of the city, the wheels rumbling against the stone. Soldiers of the Temerian escort formed up around them, their banners fluttering in the mountain breeze. The streets were lined with dwarves, their faces carrying expressions of curiosity and respect. They had been expecting their king, and they had turned out to greet him.
The Elder-in-Chief of Mahakam stood at the entrance to the great hall, his beard long and silver, his robes of state heavy with gold thread. He was surrounded by his advisors, their faces carrying the same solemn dignity as their leader. As the carriage came to a halt, the Elder-in-Chief stepped forward, to welcome his sovereign.
"Your Majesty," the Elder-in-Chief said, his voice echoing through the square. "Welcome to Mahakam. We are honored by yer presence, and we have prepared a feast in yer honor."
The dwarves knelt as one, their heads bowed, their voices rising in a chorus of welcome.
Sebastian leaned toward Foltest. "Your Majesty, you left out some details. When you said we were passing through Mahakam, you did not mention that you would be received."
Foltest laughed. "They are my subjects as well, Sebastian. Naturally, they will know their king is passing through. The dwarves of Mahakam are fiercely loyal, and they take their duties seriously. We should stay for a single day in the dwarven palace. You will like it."
Sebastian said. "I have never been inside a dwarven palace before. I am curious to see what it is like."
Foltest smiled. "You will not be disappointed. The dwarves know how to build. And they know how to entertain."
.
.
.
.
The great hall of Mount Carbon was a marvel of dwarven craftsmanship, its ceiling soaring high above them, supported by pillars of stone that had been carved with scenes of ancient battles and heroic deeds stretching back centuries. Each pillar told a story, the founding of the first dwarven kingdom, the great wars, the forging of the legendary weapons, and dragons. The walls were lined with torches, their flames casting a warm, golden glow across the gathered assembly.
Long tables stretched the length of the hall, laden with platters of roasted boar and venison, steaming vegetables glistening with butter, loaves of dark bread, and bowls of hearty stew that filled the hall with their savory aroma. The dwarves had outdone themselves, their hospitality as grand as their mountain home. The sound of laughter and clinking mugs rose and fell, and the mood was one of genuine warmth and camaraderie.
At the head of the hall, King Foltest sat on a raised dais, his seat beside that of the Elder-in-Chief, the two rulers sharing a flagon of ale and conversation that ranged from politics to the finer points of dwarven metalwork. The Elder-in-Chief was a dwarf of immense stature.
Dandelion had taken to the stage, his lute in hand, his voice soaring through the hall with a ballad of dwarven valor that had the assembled guests clapping and stomping their feet. He was in his element, and the dwarves rewarded him with cheers and shouts of approval.
Zoltan sat among his kin, his face flushed with the warmth of good company and better ale, and his laughter was a joyful sound that spoke of a man who had finally come home. He was surrounded by dwarves who greeted him as a long-lost brother.
Triss and Sebastian sat together at one of the long tables, their cups half-empty, their conversation carried in low tones beneath the noise of the feast.
Sebastian's eyes moved constantly, scanning the room with vigilance. His hand rested on his knee, inches from the hilt of his sword, though his posture was relaxed. The faces of the dwarves were open and welcoming, their laughter genuine, their hospitality unquestioned. Yet something nagged at him, a whisper that refused to be silenced.
Triss noticed the tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze lingered on the exits and the faces of the strangers around them. She leaned closer. "Relax, Sebastian," Triss said, her voice warm and soothing. "You are among friends here, not enemies. Assassins are expensive, you know. And dwarves are even more expensive to hire. They are easygoing and simple in nature, we would know immediately if they could be bought. Their loyalty is not for sale, Mahakam is a vassal state of Temeria afterall."
Sebastian's voice was low. "I don't know, Triss. I have this weird feeling the moment we entered the mountain that I cannot get rid of. It is not the same as sensing danger. It is more... subtle."
Triss studied him for a moment, her eyes searching his face. "Witcher senses," she said. "You sense evil in everything around you, even when most of the time it is true. It is a gift and a curse, is it not?"
Sebastian shook his head slowly. "It is not even evil that I am sensing. Just a bad feeling, that is all. Something is not right, but I cannot put my finger on it. It is like a splinter beneath the skin.. I know it is there, but I cannot find it."
Triss was silent for a moment, her expression thoughtful. Then she spoke. "I have learned to trust your instincts, Sebastian. If you feel something is wrong, then something is wrong. We will be careful. I will keep an eye out as well."
Sebastian's gaze drifted to the high table, where Foltest and the Elder-in-Chief were deep in conversation. The king's laughter echoed through the hall, a sound of genuine joy that seemed at odds with the tension in Sebastian's chest.
Before Sebastian could respond, Foltest rose from his seat, his voice cutting through the noise of the hall. "A toast!" he called, raising his flagon high. "To the witcher Sebastian, who made our journey here safer and more certain! A toast to the man who stood against an assassin and proved that skill and courage are worth more than gold!"
The hall erupted into cheers, the dwarves raising their mugs, their voices joining in a chorus of approval. Dandelion paused his singing to raise his lute in salute, his grin wide and unrepentant. Zoltan banged his tankard on the table.
Foltest's eyes found Sebastian. "Sebastian, come, let us have a drink! My own Kingsguard drinking himself sadly with our court mage.. could there be a more dull sight? You have earned the right to celebrate with the rest of us!"
Sebastian rose, his cup in hand. "I think you are getting drunk, Your Majesty. Perhaps you should slow down."
Foltest laughed. "Nonsense! We only have a night to spend here before hitting the road again. Drink.. your king commands it! It is not every day that I have the pleasure of dining with my men on the road."
Sebastian raised his cup. "To the king, then. And to the journey ahead. May the roads be safe and the enemies few."
The hall erupted into cheers again, the toast sealing the moment in a shared celebration of good fortune and good company. Sebastian drank, the warmth of the ale spreading through his chest, but his eyes never stopped scanning the room, the feeling of unease remained.
/-\
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