Marchan had been moving grass and hay around enough at home for his parents. It had never ever bothered him. He dared not move even though he had heard the searchers leave. He waited and the bit of light he could see through the hay piled over his head slowly faded into blackness. When he was quite sure that the place was dark he started to push the hay away. Suddenly he heard a voice. 'You can come out now,' it said. It was Hand. He dug himself out and there was Hand coming up the ladder.

'No one else is in the stables. It's quite safe,' he said as he swung his leg onto the loft floor.

Marchan felt like a hunted animal. This guy had been the leader when they had tried to stop him from entering the keep, and again when they were searching for him. He really wasn't sure he should trust him.

'Look, I knew you were here when everyone was here. I had been the last one up here and noticed that that particular area of the loft had been rustled. You know, the hay moved around. So, while the guys were searching, I decided to make up the story about dwarves reacting badly to hay. I figured it would get them out of here so you wouldn't get caught. I can guarantee that you would be tortured if they had caught you.'

'So why do you care?'

'Honestly, it's because of what you said about mothers. I think so anyway. See, my mother died when I was born. A nice woman took me in and raised me, but her husband never accepted me. He called me all kinds of nasty things and did things to me I prefer not to recall. I was so glad to get away from him when the Baron took me on as a page, but, in all the time I've been here, I don't forget his wife. I pray to Goddess Gina to watch over her every day.'

'Hmm, so you think you can repay her by helping me?' Marchan was still a little suspicious.

'Well, by helping your mother, mostly. I'm sure she wouldn't be able to handle it if you were caught and tortured.'

'Okay then, you've convinced me. Think you can get me out onto the road toward the capital?'

'The capital? Why do you want to go there?'

'I'm hoping that they have some record of where others of my race are. I haven't seen another dwarf in all my life. Maybe they know where I can find some.'

'Yes, perhaps, I'll certainly help you out onto the road.'

True to his word Hand had Marchan outdoors within minutes. He took him by a small postern gate beyond the castle walls and down the hill. He had also prepared a satchel full of cheese, bread and smoked sausages that could be stored for long journeys.

'It helps to be related to the keeper of the larder,' he laughed softly in the darkness. 'There are many fruit trees along the roadway. You will have no problem keeping up your strength on those. Take care, friend Dwarf. I do not promise that I will treat any other dwarf I meet as well as you, but I do promise I will do all I am able to help your mother.'

'Here,' Marchan said, taking a small rock from his pocket. 'Show this to my mother and tell her that I am on the road.'

'A rock will tell her something?' Hand seemed suprised.

'Yes, it's quite a special rock. I think she'll recognize it. It's from father's tombstone.'

Hand tried to look at it, but there just wasn't enough light. He gave up and said, 'Don't stop until you've passed at least two villages. And then only for a little while. Get as far from this castle as you can. I suggest you stick to travelling in darkness as well, lest someone see which way you've gone. There are others like the Baron who will be happy to do you harm.'

'Thank you, Martug,' said Marchan. 'For everything you've done, and what you've promised to do, I thank you.'

'Good bye,' Hand said and turned back to his home.

--

Marchan walked for the whole night, navigating by the stars. North wasn't hard to find, and soon he was walking that way on a military road.

Within a couple of weeks Marchan was approaching the capital. His trip was long and tiring and not particularily eventful. Most days he was hiding out in some abandoned barn or other building. Sometimes he slept on the ground in deep forest. He had quickly learned that the rural folk distrusted the site of him, and he gave them a wide berth. He travelled at night so he saw very little in the darkness.

When he arrived at the gates of the capital; however, it was just reaching day. There was nowhere to hide, so he decided to plunge in and hope that the urbanites would treat him better than their country cousins. He passed through the gate with peddlers who were carrying their trinkets to market. They did not give him a second look. Since it was early morning, they seemed to be more interested in rubbing the sleep out of their eyes.

Marchan was suprised as he passed through the first gates, that he could not see anything that appeared to be homes. The buildings he did see were quite obviously government buildings and as he passed a side street, he realised that they were army barracks. The side street led to a parade ground where soldiers were marching to and fro. The crowd he was travelling with continued on oblivious to the faint echos of drill sergeants yelling at their charges.

They soon passed another gate into open fields. Fields in a city, wondered Marchan. As he turned his head he could see that the wall between the barracks and fields ringed the fields which, in turn, surrounded another wall, toward which Marchan's sleepy companions were walking. He jogged a bit to keep up. Before long he passed a gate of that wall into what looked more like a town crushed together. The houses were very thin and butt right against each other. Children were playing in the streets and a few of Marchan's companions started to set up their stalls. Others turned this way and that to destinations that Marchan couldn't be bothered to guess.

Now that he had arrived, Marchan wondered what he should do. He knew that somewhere in the city he might find records of where his own people might be, but where would he find such records? He had no idea, and the city suddenly seemed to him cold and uninviting.

Marchan realised he had been standing in the middle of the street. A man child about his own height was standing and watching him not far away. Marchan began to walk on, hoping to see something that could give him an idea of where to go, but the boy caught up with him.

'You look a little lost friend,' he said.

Marchan was suprised. Most boys he had met who were as short as him were much younger. This boy sounded closer to the same age.

'Well, I've never been here before,' said Marchan.

'Well, let me give you the tour. This is Kardin Square. Two centuries ago, before the ascension of the Queen, may the Roubbes keep her bones from decay, Mother of our current King, may he reign still longer, it was the main southern entrance to the city. Lots of bustle and soldiers and the like. Now as you likely saw, the soldiers are all out in the Barracks Ring. Over there is Mardic, the Baker. If you have a few coins, you can get wonderful pastries and pies. Near him is Johone, the Tailor. He'll suit you up right.' The boy went on for some time his spiel giving a reason to visit every single booth in the square, not including the booths set up by the peddlers that had arrived with Marchan.

When Marchan asked, the boy said, 'Well, I don't know their names, or what they sell exactly, but if you like I can find out.'

'Maybe you can get me some other information,' Marchan said. 'As you can see, I'm not a man, nor will I become one. I am dwarf. I understand there may be records in this city that tell where I might find others of my kind.

'Now that I don't know,' said the lad. 'I may be able to take you to someone who would know where to find such information. Come this way.'

'By the way,' said Marchan as they started walking. 'I am Marchan.'

'Peter,' said the boy. 'Glad to have met you.'

Peter led Marchan through the square and down a main street. They turned a corner and passed through yet another gate. On either side of them were orchards of apples and pears. Some distance away Marchan could see a vineyard and more fruit trees. Marchan stopped to take in his surroundings.

'What is it?' asked Peter, also stopping. 'Is something wrong?'

'No,' said Marchan. 'I just cannot understand a city with all these orchards inside it!'

'Well, see, the capital is made up of rings, each one ringing the smaller ones. We're walking closer to the center. You've seen the outer Barracks Ring, and the Fields Ring. Inside is the Merchant Ring where I live, and this is the Orchard Ring. Just ahead there is the City of the Kings. Inside that ring is the city the King's gardens, and inside that the Palace. The Palace is also built as a ring and inside that is a tower. Look straight ahead and you can make out the top of it. They say it was the first of everything built in the city. Some even say it wasn't built by human hands. The Roubbes themselves fastened it out of the rock before mankind came here. That tower is the center of the city and from it comes the name of the city. Turrisple, the City of the Tower.'

'But orchards, and fields, inside a city!'

'It's a very big city. The city imports very little food, so if we are beseiged, the attackers must bring their own food from outside, but we are well fed. There has not been anyone attempting to beseige the city for almost three centuries, and that was before the Queen, may her spirit find rest, built the Barracks Ring.'

Marchan began walking again. It amazed him, but it made sense not to rely on growing food from outside the city. It took them a few minutes to pass the orchards. Then they came to a gate. A pair of guards stood there watching them approach. These were no ordinary soldiers. They were dressed in silk and cotton. Their armour was gilded and their shields had a silver tower embossed upon them. Their helmets glistened in the morning sun.

'You, boys, where are you going,' called one.

'To find you,' said Peter. 'My friend her is not a manchild. He is a dwarfchild and is looking to find his own people.'

'He won't find any here,' replied the other guard.

'Perhaps not, but the kingdom must have records of where they can be found,' replied Marchan. 'In case it must call upon them in time of need.'

'That may be,' said the first guard. 'It is beyond my station. Please wait here until my superior arrives. He will know how to help you.'

Marchan was quite willing to wait. He found some soft grass and was soon fast asleep. He had been walking all night and the sun was getting closer to the south. Peter sat beside him and waited.

It didn't seem like much time had passed before Marchan was awoken.

'I am Johan,' said the man who woke him. 'The guards tell me you are looking for information on where to find other Dwarves. I can take you to the Hall of Records. Come with me.'

Johan led him through the gate, but the guards would not let Peter follow. Marchan waved good-bye, but Peter did not seem pleased. Soon though, Marchan could no longer see him as he nearly ran to keep up with Johan. Johan obviously was not used to walking with people shorter than him, or had some schedule to keep. He did not talk, so Marchan was left wondering what all the buildings he was passing were. They were mavelous, marble and amethyst were in abundance. Gold lined doorways and silver lined walkways. Nowhere could Marchan see any brick, and the wood used in the buildings seemed only to highlight the marble.

Marchan tried asking Johan about various buildings but Johan ignored the question and just told him to hurry.

Soon they reached a large building set back from the road. To reach it they would have to cross a marble bridge. Johan stopped before crossing the bridge. He pointed at the edifice.

'That is the Hall of Records. I must get back to my rounds,' he said and strode off as Marchan called a thanks after him.

He turned back to the Hall of Records. It was an even more imposing building that anything he had yet seen. It was surrounded by gardens with benches for sitting upon. It was built of marble like so many other buildings, but this looked to Marchan's untrained eye to be an even more exquisite stone. Marchan had never seen it's like. Atop the Hall was a bronze roof, shining the nearly noonday sun. Marchan was sure he had found the place.

Marchan walked across the bridge. As he approached the front gate he noticed two guards standing there, looking small below to the tall gate. They were each holding a 4 metre spear in the right hand and were dressed very much like the last two guards Marchan had met. He walked up to them.

'Halt,' commanded one. 'State your name and business.'

'I am Marchan,' he replied. 'I am looking for information on other dwarves. Johan that I just left said I might find something here.'

The second guard with little effort raised his spear half a metre off the ground and let it fall back onto the marble bridge. Marchan could feel the shock through his feet and the heard a terrifying boom which reverberated below the bridge and off the Hall of Records.

Before long another man come out, dressed like Johan, in a navy blue tunic and light blue trousers, apparently the uniform of the officers.

'What is it?'

'M'Lord, the dwarf here says he is Marchan, looking for information on other dwarves.'

'Your own people don't have it?' said the officer looking at Marchan.

'I do not know of any of my people,' Marchan said. 'I was raised by humans, and have just recently started looking for my own people.'

'Ah, come inside, we'll see what we can find.'

The officer led Marchan into the courtyard and into the Hall of Records. He was quite friendly and took Marchan to his office.

'My name is Richard,' he told Marchan. 'Would you like anything to eat or drink?'

'Why thank you, I would,' replied Marchan. 'I haven't really had a good meal in a few weeks. I was too afraid to try to enter most of the villages along the way and had no money to buy anything anyway.'

'Are the peasants treating strangers that poorly? That's sad. Considering how much this kingdom owes to the dwarves, we should be forever grateful to your people.'

'Oh? A Baron I met along the way described us as responsible for all kinds of pain and suffering.'

'Really, now that is very sad. A Baron should know better. No, about a decade and a half ago the Great Enemy Chloris broke through and attempted to invade our lands. We raised what defenses we could, but even with the King's whole domain behind us we were overwhelmed. That is until a very large contingent of dwarves appeared on each of the enemy's flanks. He suddenly found himself trapped on three sides by a superior force. It was still very bloody, but we did win that battle and he has not tried to invade again since then. Our contacts away south suggest he may be rising again, but you did not come here to listen to a lecture on our military.'

'I didn't but it is very interesting. I was found on the south edge of the kingdom after that battle by a human warrior named Jonathan. He raised me, but now I am almost an adult and would like to find my own kind.'

'Yes, of course,' said Richard. 'I will see what can be found. Trevor, come in here please!'

This last bit was spoken rather loudly and a young man came in. He was dressed in yet another uniform. It was neither the uniform of the guards and nor the that of an officer. His hair was slicked back and was tied together then tucked into the back of his uniform.