“How do you know that?” Tarrik asked.
A dead Reonus from Holwey told me, Khollo thought. “I learned that at the Academy, during one of our discussions on historical warfare and strongholds,” he said instead.
“Well, you’re right,” Tarrik grunted. “The ancients did build in stone a lot. But all I have are texts on some of their mining techniques. And the only reason I have those is because there was more useful information in the same book.”
“Can you translate some of the mining entries?” Khollo asked eagerly. “What we’re trying to do here is basically excavate a giant mine.”
Tarrik stumped over to a tower of shelves in an alcove, none of which stood perfectly horizontal. All manner of dusty volumes, ranging in size from small enough to fit in one’s pocket to massive tomes, were piled haphazardly on the shelf. Tarrik snatched up one of the larger texts and thunked it down on a worktable.
“The only trouble,” Tarrik murmured. “Is that the text is in the ancient language, and faded badly in places.”
Khollo leaned over the book. Angular runes, much different from the letters and numbers the Sthan used, covered the pages from top to bottom and side to side. Here and there were faded line drawings of tools, designs, even series of sketches outlining forging techniques. Tarrik began flipping through the yellowed pages rapidly, muttering to himself.
“Mining . . . mining,” he murmured again and again. “Mining . . . ah, supports!” he said finally, jabbing a finger at the page.
Khollo looked down and saw a detailed drawing of a tunnel. It was depicted as an arch, the entrance framed by timber, running into a hillside. Dashed lines marked additional supports further in, always arches.
“Interesting,” Khollo murmured. “Always arches.”
“Lots of headroom,” Tarrik observed. “There’s notes at the side here . . . something about increasing the angle to a keystone?”
Khollo frowned, scanning the text. The runes seemed to shift and swim on the page. He focused on the lettering beside a pair of arches, one taller and more pointed than the other. Suddenly, with utter clarity, he understood.
“The higher elevation directs weight down rather than out,” Khollo murmured.
“What?” Tarrik asked distractedly.
“Read,” Khollo said, pointing to the lines.
Tarrik scanned the caption quickly. “Hmm. You’re right.” He frowned. “You could tell that from the pictures?”
“No, I read it, same as you,” Khollo replied, a little irritably.
“You can read the ancient language?”
Khollo opened his mouth to reply, then stopped. I can read the ancient language, he realized. Now where did I learn to do that? Khollo stopped, frowned. I didn’t.
“I . . . I guess,” Khollo replied in response to Tarrik’s question.
The smith rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Interesting. You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
Apparently, Khollo thought, distracted. Why can I read the ancient language?
“Based on what it says here, we should design our corridors using these taller arches,” Tarrik continued, bringing Khollo back to reality. “Maybe the shorter arches would be better for rooms and such?”
“Maybe,” Khollo agreed. “This is more complicated than I ever dreamed it would be.”
“Good thing you thought of this before we hollowed out the whole hill and collapsed it,” Tarrik observed.
Khollo stood and made his way to the entrance. “Right. Well, I have enough to go on for now, I guess.”
“Here,” Tarrik said, tossing Khollo the book. Khollo barely caught it, and its weight caused a flare of pain in his injured side. “You might find other useful bits in there.” He cocked his head at Khollo. “You know, I’m impressed, lad. Only a few know the ancient language these days, and they’re all scholars and tradesmen with years of experience. It’s amazing that you’ve managed to pick it up so easily.”
“Yes,” Khollo agreed. “Amazing.” He paused in the entrance to smithy and looked back. “Oh, we’re going to need shovels, picks, hammers, chisels, things like that. I’ll send to Ardia and Narne for more, but in the meantime – ”
“There are lots of tools left over from when this fortress was built,” Tarrik interrupted. “And most anything can be used as a shovel in a pinch. I’ll get Aaron and Wendell and start collecting up what I can.”
“Good,” Khollo said, “The villagers will be back soon, looking for tools, so you need to move fast.”
“We’ll do what we can.”
Khollo left the smithy and retreated to the front steps of the keep, were he sat down and opened the massive tome he had been given, poring over its pages frantically. He had a lot to learn, and not much time.
As he read, villagers started trickling through the front gate and moving towards the smithy, Janis in the lead. Khollo monitored the group with one corner of his mind, even though most of his attention was focused on the book in his lap. With the help of Sermas and Hern, Khollo’s uncle was organizing the men into teams and issuing tools. Within the half hour, everyone had a job and sixty men were standing in the courtyard, waiting expectantly. Janis, Sermas, and Hern, moved up to Khollo, casting a shadow over the pages of his book.
“Ready and awaiting your orders,” Janis reported.
“What’s the plan?” Sermas asked eagerly, hefting a pickaxe of his own.
Khollo tried to grab Sermas’ pick, but the younger boy jerked the tool away from Khollo and stepped back, his face set in determined lines.
“No,” he said warningly. “You can tell us where to dig and what to do, but you’re not so much as touching any of the tools.”
Khollo scowled, but reluctantly accepted his friend’s ultimatum. “Fine,” he said grudgingly. “Mark out a space twenty feet square.”
Khollo watched impatiently as Sermas complied, then checked his work by pacing off the length of each side. Satisfied that the space was reasonably
