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. Inside,
the tunnel was cool and still, but dry. Mettew moved the
key around to the back side of the face, and then the
other dwarves helped him swing the door shut. With a fi-
nal turn of the key, he removed it from the face and slid
the massive tool back into his pack.
The tunnel was now completely black. The dwarves
stood for a moment, allowing their keen dwarven eyes to
adjust. Then, "Let's move." shouted the baron, and the
line set off again.
"Wait!" shouted Woodrow, halting abruptly. Tassle-
hoff collided with Woodrow's backside and dropped his
hoopak. "The kender and I can't see in here. Can we
strike a light?"
"Sorry," said Mettew, stooping to retrieve the fallen
hoopak. "We don't carry torches, because we don't need
them. Just put your hand on the dwarf ahead of you and
you'll be fine. The floor is smooth enough."
Though she could see just fine, Gisella took the oppor-
tunity to rest her hands on the stout waists of two
dwarves, who seemed happy to oblige.
Tasslehoff and Woodrow stumbled along behind the
sharp-sighted dwarves. After some time, the line
abruptly stopped. Tas heard a loud "thunk," and light
streamed into the tunnel ahead. His eyes watered and
smarted as he stepped through another leering face door-
way into the light.
"There it is," declared Mettew proudly, spreading his
thick arms wide. "Rosloviggen. The finest city in the
realm."
Woodrow whistled through his teeth. Nestled deep in
the valley between two steep mountains was a jumbled
city of peaked roofs, gables, steeples, tiny, walled gar-
dens, stone arches, colonnades, monoliths, and winding,
neatly cobbled streets
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