Battleborne

by Dave Willmarth

  “Yes, please. I’m looking for a couple spare sets of clothes, a smithing apron, sturdy leather boots…” Max presented the dwarf with a list, and the shopkeeper began rounding up items even as he listened.

  When Max was done itemizing, Fitchstone said, “Won’t have clothes to fit ye, big fella. But me daughter be right handy with needle n thread. If ye can wait a few days fer the clothes, I’ll get her down here now to measure ye, and she’ll fix ye up right.”

  “I’ve just started studying smithing under Master Oakstone, so I expect I’ll be here for a while.”

  “Thelonia! Get down here, bring yer measurin’ things!” Fitchstone turned back to Max. I can give ye an apron now, but it’ll only cover ye to just below yer nobblies. Me girl can make ye a longer one quick enough.”

  “My nobblies are what I want to protect most, so that’ll work.” Max grinned at the shopkeeper, who winked and took off into a back room.

  A moment later an attractive female dwarf with jet black hair and tired eyes entered the room through the same door her father had just exited. Yawning, she gave a slight wave. “Me da says ye need custom…” She paused, finally looking at Max. “Holy dungbeetles, I can see what he meant!” She blinked a few times, looking Max up and down, then whistled appreciatively. “Yer a great big hunk o’ manly muscle, ain’t ye?”

  Max actually blushed a little. “I’m Max. And yes, I’m slightly taller than your average dwarf.”

  She snorted, then pulled out a fabric measuring tape, moving toward him with a smile on her face. “This may tickle, if I do it right.”

  Max blushed even more as she dropped to one knee in front of him and went straight to measuring his inseam quite… indelicately. She moved around him like a tiny tornado, measuring his chest and waist, shoulders and arms, even his fingers. When he was through being flustered by her directness, he asked, “Can you also make socks that won’t get torn as soon as I take a step? My toenails match these.” He held up a hand, fingernail claws waggling.

  “Aye.” She smiled. “I can do that. Kick off them boots n lemme measure them big feet o’ yours.” She flashed him another smile that was full of mischief. When she was done measuring, she stood looking up at him, tapping a finger against her chin. “I can have ye three full sets of cloth, one leather, in three days. The apron ye can pick up tomorrow. All told, two gold coins.” She paused, smiling prettily at him. “The rest I can deliver to ye personally when they’re all done.”

  Max was tempted to simply lift the little minx up and carry her away. She had curves in all the right places, and he liked the feisty ones. He took a deep breath, and thought about baseball. “That sounds perfect!” he winked at her. Before she could reply, her father returned carrying a large stack of items that Max expected would tip and fall at any moment.

  “Here’s the balance of your items.” She helped her father place the items on the nearest counter without dropping anything, informing him that the clothes Max wanted totaled two gold. The old dwarf did some adding in his head as he surveyed the stack, then said “Twelve gold altogether, includin’ the custom tailored clothing.”

  Max had learned his lesson with the king. “I’ll give you… eight gold, and that’s most of what I have.” Technically it was more than half his funds, and qualified as ‘most’.

  “Bah, I dunno what race ye be, but ya clearly possess a thieving heart! Eight gold be less than the cost o’ this great pile o’ quality merchandise. And did I tell ye we offer a guarantee? No, I canno’ take less than eleven gold!”

  “The only thing I might try to steal from you is your daughter’s heart! I’ll give you nine gold.” Max winked at the dwarfess, whose turn it was to blush now.

  The old dwarf was shocked for a moment, his mouth hanging open, but he quickly recovered. “Ha! I like ye, stranger.” He turned to see the look on his daughter’s face. “And it seems me girl likes ye too! So I’ll make ye me very best price, at ten gold. Any lower and it’d hurt me very soul.”

  Max held out a hand, which the dwarf shook with significant strength. “We have an agreement.” He handed over ten gold coins.

  Fitchstone grinned at him, then reached around behind Max and grabbed something. “Here, I’ll even throw in this length o’ rope. Everyone knows ye don’t go adventuring without a friggin rope!”

  Max looked at the pile. “I’m afraid my inventory won’t hold all of this. Do you have a large pack or even a canvas sack I can carry these in?”

  Fitchstone practically leapt over the counter, sliding across on his butt and dropping down behind it. He crouched down, then straightened up holding a belt. “This be a storage belt. Fifty-item dimensional storage. Very good quality. I can let ye have it for twenty gold.”

  Max shook his head. “I was telling the truth when I said all of this would take most of my gold. I don’t have nearly enough.” He looked around the room, spotting some of the rare-looking crafting materials.

  “What about trade? I have a few things that might interest you.” He reached into his inventory and pulled out one of the stone dragon scales.

  Fitchstones eyes widened. He snatched the scale from Max’s hand, cutting his own finger in the process. Sticking the finger in his mouth and sucking on the blood absentmindedly, he looked up at Max.

  “Ye been to the cursed battleground!”

  Max nodded. “I have. I collected a few of these, and I might be willing to part with one or two…”

  “There ain’t been none o’ these scales available for centuries! After the battle, many a fool ventured into the cursed place, risked their lives to bring these and other dragon bits back. For a time, there was a good supply. The smiths learned to use these in armor that, even today, ain’t been matched. The masters would give ye a daughter or two fer a supply o’ these now.”

  Max grinned, and the old dwarf blinked a few times, only then realizing what he’d said. “Damn. Me n my blatherin’! How many o’ these do ye have, big fella?”

  “I might part with… a half dozen? I want to save some for when I can use them to craft armor myself, someday.”

  Fitchstone grimaced. “That don’t be many. Maybe not enough for a chest piece.” He eyed the size of the scale, holding it over his heart, then moving it around his torso to see how much six of them might cover.

  “I could go as high as ten.” Max had eighteen of them. And he figured he could always go back and find more. Even if the area had been well harvested, it hadn’t taken him all that long to find the ones he had.

  “Aye, ten would do, for certain.” The old merchant looked up at Max. “As fer the value, I canno’ honestly say I know for sure. To be honest, ye’d do better sellin’ directly to one o’ the masters…” He shook his head, then an idea struck him. “Or, I could help ye! Yes… we could hold an auction. I’ll represent ye, and the scales will go in a single lot to the highest bidder.” The dwarf began to pace, his daughter standing behind him and rolling her eyes.

  “Be careful, Max. He’ll own half yer soul before he’s through with his plannin’ and scheming!” She stuck her tongue out at her father when he scowled at her.

  “I’ll take care of everything. We don’t even need to say who the seller is, if ye want to remain anonymous. Ye leave the scales with me, and we’ll have the auction in… two days. And fer my assistance and expertise, I’ll only take ten percent.”

  Max thought about it briefly. He trusted the old dwarf, and even if he got screwed, he could always go to the king. But out of curiosity, he asked, “What’s your guess as to the value?”

  Fitchstone chuckled. “Hundreds o’ gold coins.”

  Max was a little disappointed. The way the dwarf had been raving, he’d assumed the value would be higher. Still, it was found money, considering he’d just stumbled across the scales. With a little help from Red. He made a note to thank her, if she ever spoke to him again.

  “Okay, assuming you auction the whole lot, is there a storage item here bigger than the fifty slot belt? And if
there is, will the gold from the auction cover it?”

  Thelonia, seeing her father was drifting off into planning mode while still sucking on his injured finger, moved to a shelf behind the counter and pulled down a tiny carved wooden box. Opening the box, she removed a plain looking metal ring and held it up for Max to see.

  “This one be two hundred… slots, as ye call em. Dimensional storage, lightens yer load by ninety nine percent. And it be bondable, so it can’t be taken against yer will.” She saw the way he was looking at it, mistaking the look of wonder for one of disappointment. “I know it don’t look shiny or fancy, but that be the point. If ye get robbed, nobody will want a plain metal ring, or bracelet, or earring. And this one can be any o’ those.” She placed the ring on her finger to show him, then pulled it off and pushed it against her wrist. The metal morphed into a plain-looking bracelet. Then just for fun she removed it from her wrist and pushed it against her nose, where it turned into a much smaller nose ring.

  “The price be four hundred gold.” She set it back in the box, which she left open on top of the counter.

  Her father had recovered during the demonstration, and added, “This were crafted by a true Master of both blacksmithing and dimensional magic. As far as I know, there are only a dozen like it. Take this now, use it to carry away yer other items here, and we’ll settle up the difference after the auction. And here, take these back.” He set Max’s ten gold coins on the counter.

  Max began to worry. “And the few hundred gold we might get at the auction will cover the cost of all this?”

  Both dwarves blinked at him in silence for a long moment. Then Thelonia, realizing Max’s confusion, said, “Me da meant that the auction would likely bring a few hundred gold per scale.”

  Now it was Max’s turn to blink for a second, before he picked up the ring, smiling. “Sounds good to me!” He put the ring on his finger, then swept it across the items he’d just purchased, all of them sorting themselves into the slots inside. He set nine more of the scales on the now empty counter.

  Thelonia laughed, then said. “I’ll see ya at the auction, if ye wish to attend. Otherwise, I could put a rush on them clothes, and deliver em to ya… tomorrow evenin’?”

  “I look forward to it. And yes, I think I’d like to attend the auction.” He shook hands with Fitchstone, then Thelonia, who held her grip slightly longer than she needed to, looking up at him with a smile. “Uh, my quarters are…on the apprentice level.” He paused, not knowing exactly how to explain where he was staying.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll find ye. Won’t be difficult. Ye stand out in a crowd just a bit.” She smirked.

  “Heh. Okay. See you soon, then.” Max waved and left the shop, the ten gold coins back in his pocket, and the promise of potentially thousands more to come, making him feel rich. He decided to do a bit more shopping before everyone closed up and retired for the evening.

  The first place he went was back to the bakery.

  *****

  Red woke Max at five bells again the next morning. This time she hung around as he shook his head and blinked his eyes a few times, getting his bearings. He’d stopped at a tavern after shopping, spending a whole gold coin buying drinks for several of his fellow apprentices.

  “HOW’S YOUR HEAD!?” Red shouted from his shoulder, nearly making him curl into a fetal position.

  “Hey, Red… I’m really sorry about what I said before. Truly. I’m an idiot. Please forgive me.” He spoke softly, mostly because it hurt his head to speak at all.

  She looked up at him, her scowl softening. “You are an idiot. A big dumb lump of stupid wrapped in rudeness.” Her voice wasn’t a shout, but it was still loud enough to make Max wince. “But I will forgive you, since you asked so sincerely.”

  “Thank you, Red. I didn’t catch on about the soul bonding thing, and I didn’t realize what I was saying. We’ll figure this out as we go, you and me. Just… try not to get me killed, okay? I mean, it wouldn’t be good for your rep as a guide, would it?”

  Red gave him a sideways look, arms crossed and tapping her tiny foot in mid-air. “It would not. But seeing you die a painful death might be worth it anyway.” She grumped.

  “That’s my girl!” he forced himself to get to his feet, heading for the door. Are you going to hang out with me today?”

  “I don’t think you need me to help you pump bellows or pound metal, do you? Besides, if you start talking to me, and the others can’t see me…”

  “Good point. Well, have a nice rest?” he watched her fade from sight as he made his way to the common bathrooms to wash up. The dwarves had an ingenious plumbing system that used an underground heat source to create hot water, and steam to operate pumps to push both hot and cold water throughout their city. They used the same basic principle as the old steam engines on earth. So Max was able to start his day with a hot shower.

  After a delicious breakfast of oatmeal flavored with honey and a fruit similar to strawberries, Max headed over to his station. He waited until he got there before donning his too-short leather apron, not wanting to parade it in front of all the apprentices and take the teasing. As it was, the two who shared his forge chuckled a bit when they saw it. He shrugged.

  “At least it protects the important bits” He made a show of cupping his hands over his crotch and turning away from the forge as if dodging sparks. This got him a laugh from the others, just as Master Oakstone was arriving.

  “Ye aint’ got nothin better to do than sit around giggling like maidens?” He growled, causing all three of them to suddenly make themselves look busy. He motioned toward a new pile of metal bars sitting next to Max’s work bench. “Me king promised ye enough stock ta learn with. This be the first bit. Take a copper bar, heat it, and make me a simple dagger. Ye have two days to get it right.” He looked at Max’s apron for a moment, shook his head, and left.

  Max was excited to get a little hands-on work done! Taking a bar of copper from the stack, he used a pair of tongs to set it into the forge. While he waited for it to heat, he prepared his tools, took up a piece of charcoal, and drew a rough image of what he wanted right onto the workbench surface. Just a simple knife with a full tang, thick handle, and a six inch blade. He wasn’t making an epic weapon here, just a copper knife that would easily bend or break with any kind of heavy use. Great for cutting vegetables, maybe cheese.

  When the metal was hot, he pulled it from the furnace and set it atop his anvil. Taking the five-pound hammer he’d chosen in hand, he raised his arm and struck the hot metal.

  Two things happened. First, he mostly missed his target, just striking a glancing blow on one edge. And that glancing blow caused him to lose his grip with the tongs, and the hot metal to roll off the anvil on to the floor, where it lay smoking. He cursed loudly, and heard some nearby snickering as he bent to grab it with the tongs and put it back onto the anvil.

  He was more careful with his next strike, hitting it pretty close to where he’d intended. And he made sure to keep a secure grip with his other hand. After a dozen or so hits that had some serious muscle behind them, he grew more confident in his stroke. He put the metal back into the furnace to bring it back up to workable temperature, and removed his canteen from his inventory to take a drink. It still held some of the cool refreshing water from the pond, which gave him a little extra energy boost.

  By midday he had started and abandoned three knives. One he’d broken with a misplaced strike of the hammer, the other two he’d thinned out the metal too much, rendering them useless. He didn’t yet have the skill to fold the metal and keep going, so he’d had to set them aside and grab a new bar.

  He didn’t stop for lunch, just took a meat kabob and a pastry from his inventory and gulped them down while his fourth bar was heating. When it was ready, he placed it carefully on the anvil, being sure to secure it tightly with the tongs, and began to draw out the square bar into the rough shape of a knife. He kept in mind the mistakes he’d made before, making sure his hammer
blows struck where he wanted, with the power he wanted.

  When the metal cooled, he heated it again. More hammer strokes, more adjustments. Initially he’d strike once or twice, take a moment to move or turn the metal with his left hand, then strike again. Now he was getting into more of a rhythm, striking the metal, then adjusting during the backswing, and striking again with little or no delay. He and his hands were becoming more sure of their work.

  Unlike the bellows, this work was beginning to tire him. He took a few breaks to sip some water, his cotton shirt soaked with sweat. Initially the sweat annoyed him, but now he was grateful for its cooling effect when he stepped back from the furnace.

  The fourth bar actually began to take the shape of the knife he wanted. He had the thick tang, a clear delineation at the start of the ricasso, then a narrowing and tapering as the blade extended to a rough point. It was bulkier than he imagined the finished product would be, which was fine. He would grind away a bit of the existing material to expose the work of art underneath.

  He heated the piece twice more, using gentler strokes of the hammer to fine tune its shape. When he thought he had it pretty well set, he heated the blade once more, then dipped it into the oil barrel to rapidly cool and harden. Flames shot up the length of the blade and partway up the tongs, causing him to lean back in surprise. His grip on the tongs slackened, and the knife dropped to the bottom of the barrel.

  Once again his forgemates chuckled as Max said bad words they didn’t understand, but could guess the meaning of.

  His tongs were not long enough to reach the bottom of the barrel on their own, so Max had to strip off his shirt and stick his arm about elbow-deep into the oil before he felt the tongs touch bottom. Then he had to blindly grope about until he felt them contact the blade. Another five minutes of grabbing at the slippery metal in a vat of oil, and he finally managed to grip it!

  Lifting the tongs and the blade out of the oil, he held them above the barrel while they dripped and drooled oil. When enough of it had run off that he got a good look at the blade, he cursed even more loudly.