by Demetri Grim
“I am no engineer. Chains, magic, manpower.” He waved his hand dismissively down the corridor. “We are heading to the barracks to requisition equipment. Seeing as I am not the smith you are required to select what you need.” She nodded to him, it was oddly reasonable of him. Beka knew of the garrison’s portable forge. The garrison had actually acquired the small forge assembly from her grandfather, under reportedly dubious circumstances. She had never seen it, but from the stories her father and uncle told, it was more an engineering marvel than anything a self respecting Galten blacksmith should have produced. She was excited to get to use it, a fact Beka had no intention of letting Lord Kindredstar know about.
“That’s fair,” Beka said, trying to find the words to ask her next question about the mechanics who built the lift. The elf cut her off as he came to a sudden stop.
“Ah, here we are. This is the size and shape of the work I wish you to perform,” he said, gesturing to an offal pit. In a well-ventilated alcove the remains of animals, monsters and waste from cleaning the cells sat in a reeking pile just past the lift corridor. Beka almost lost her breakfast. Heaving a dry gag she looked away. “Oh come now, any hunter or farmer works with worse on a daily basis,” the elf lord teased her, his eyebrow arched over a glowing blue eye. “I insist you look, this will be cleared by tomorrow and you will need to know how much gold is required for your work.” He placed his cold bony hands on her shoulders and slowly turned her back towards the pile.
“I’m all right, it just caught me by surprise is all.” Beka swallowed hard, trying to ignore the taste of bile and other unspeakable things as she did. “What am I looking for?” She asked as she scanned the pile of refuse. Ripped, slashed, and clawed remains of half eaten arms, legs, torsos, and far too many bones of nearly every shape and size filled the pit. This must have been where the goblins... decorated, their shields... she mused. No doubt the goblins would be added to this pile shortly. Thinking of her brother she really wanted him to show up right then. Anything to ease her nerves and save her from the focused attention of Lord Kindredstar.
“There. The large bovine skull, near the top of the bone pile.” He pointed a long finger over her shoulder and leaned in close, his breath coming out right at her ear. “The skull’s horns are exactly the same measurements you will need for the filigree.” She shivered and took a step forward, closer to the pit. Her boot sticking to something she did not want to guess at, the lesser of two evils in her book. She wanted nothing more than to simply get away from the man.
“I see it. Those horns are quite large, will you want them covered from tip to base and across the skull as well?” Beka asked as she wondered how the elf was planning on fetching the skull. Probably will have a guard do it. Or her brother. She smiled a little at that.
“No. Not the skull, just the horns and that is only an example. You see what I have planned for you to create young smith, is a prize. A reward for slaying a monster. Now I must warn you, what you learn here in my Menagerie cannot be spoken of past these walls.” She turned to face him. His too-wide grin and glowing blue eyes met hers as her own light grey eyes opened in surprise.
“Wait. A monster? You want me to do filigree work on a monster?! A living monster? You can’t be serious!” She was shocked, appalled, and soundly confused. Who in their right mind would carve filigree onto a monster! Its insane, it’s dangerous, it’s exactly what she should have expected from this dangerous, creepy and powerfully eccentric noble. Beka staggered backward, her head spinning as she realized the stink of the pit and the stress of the entire encounter was starting to weigh on her.
“Yes, a beast from my personal stock in fact. You passed the creature when you first entered. It will be a part of the opening ceremony, a grand fight to the death! The vile monster slain, the champion taking the beast’s head, its horns covered in glittering gold! A spectacular reward!” The elf’s tone became high and dramatic, arms held to the sky as his eyes cast upwards to the Colosseum floor far above picturing the scene in his mind. To his credit, and to her own chagrin, it truly would make a wonderful event and a fitting reward.
“Is that what Lavets is going...” Beka started before his gaze dropped to hers and he cut her off. She was starting to wish he would just let her finish for once and she sighed, biting her lip to hold off a sarcastic remark.
“No, your brother is ill-suited to kill the creature, his fight will come, but not for that. I feel he has been awarded enough already. His commission is enough, don't you agree?” She nodded and considered the spear as the two of them moved on past the pit and farther down the hall. The cages farther away from his office gradually filled with more common monsters and beasts. Dire wolves, large cats, a few more goblins of a different tribe. “I do not know who will vanquish the creature, but you can rest assured young Miss Galten. I will take all the precautions I can to ensure your safety as you work. Now tell me how much gold will you require, and what amount of time will it take? I trust it can be done before the tournament begins?” Beka was certain now that this was not going to be an offer she was able to refuse. He already told her his plans for the monster. If she turned it down and left, would that make her a liability? She was not keen to find out.
“Well, if both horns are covered and I use a single layer, about as much as that bar you have should be enough for each horn,” she answered, rubbing her chin in thought in the same way her uncle usually did when assessing a project. She dropped her hand with an annoyed grumble once she realized she was doing so and wrinkled her nose. “The... only concern I have My lord is the heating. To melt and fuse the gold, as well as the quenching. I don't think it can be done on... on a living thing. The heat is too much.” She shrugged her shoulders as the hallway neared its end. Another set of heavy iron doors filled the hall, this time barricaded with more common bands of steel and a heavy cross bar. Two more guards already stood at attention in front of the door. Both saluting with respect to the noble, having heard their approach down the echoing hall.
“My lord!” They said in unison and turned to lift the bar, opening the door for them to pass.
“Do not concern yourself for the wellbeing of the savage, its purpose is to die. With your work it will die gloriously, what more can a beast of its nature want.” He paused as he took in the hallway, glancing back to Beka. “I will see about putting it to sleep for the duration of your work if that is a concern. Now come, the garrison armory is this way.” He gestured down the long corridor. She was clearly in the barracks now— it had the feel of many years of people living and working from within the halls.
The stones of the garrison hall were worn in odd places and strangely smooth. A dirty path running down the middle of the dark red carpet marked it as another section outside of the elf lord’s domain. A fact that eased her nerves ever so slightly as she peered around what must have been the living quarters. The corners of walls were chipped in places. Several of the torch sconces were missing, leaving the old flickering ones looking rusted and out of place in the dim hall. Bits of litter could be found scattered along the way, an odd bottle, a discarded boot, the many signs of military life in a time of peace. Every door they passed was old time-eaten wood. Many of the doors had generations of names carved into them, decorated with odds and ends from homes of whomever lived within.
It took another several minutes winding through the labyrinth of identical stone corridors before the walls and floor of the garrison changed to newer stones and a fresh bright red carpet. The many turns and passages it took to get to that point left even Beka’s usual street-savvy memory failing her. It had not helped that Lord Kindredstar fell into an uneasy silence as they moved through the halls. He watched every door as they passed as if someone would leap out and attack. His long stride quick enough that she had to jog at times to keep up until at last they reached their destination. The armory.
The red-carpeted hall opened up into a room nearly the size of the market square. Filled with weapons of war and armo
r for the guards. Beka felt as if she walked into a dream— it was possibly the most glorious room in all of Cross. Possibly in all of Duo. The weapons filled row after row of racks, hundreds of them, from short swords to halberds. Bows, daggers, warhammers, everything she ever could think of making was here. All of them at the ready for whatever war came next. The walls on each side of the room were lined with multi-tiered shelves to hold the hundreds of sets of armor needed to outfit the Capital’s armies. Thin leather the size of a child, likely built for the needs of the small population of Gnomes that worked alongside the guards as scouts, to the full glittering steel plate armor of the the elite Paladin Knights of Cross, the military strikeforce of the king himself. At the back of the cavernous room was a set of caged displays, the weapons and armor inside flickering and glinting with enchantments. That was when she spotted them, the glint of over three dozen Silverlight Swords, there mirror-like sheen rippling in the torchlight from a steel-reinforced cage.
“The Silver legion,” Beka said reverently. The set of enchanted swords was another family legacy from her grandfather’s time. When he was alive Cross was in the middle of the most violent years of the Primals’ Uprising. Her grandfather had been drafted into the army, and in his time serving the king he created a set of swords for his entire company.
“Aye, that it is Lass,” a gruff voice called out from behind a shelf, a moment before a very stout dwarf emerged. The typical beard that most dwarfs favor was distinctly missing from this withered old man. His long grey hair was tied in a thick warrior braid but his face was a scarred half-burnt strip of leather. Extensive scarring covered the bottom half of his jaw and ran along his neck well below the collar of his thick gambeson armor. “You ‘ave a keen eye wee miss. But the armory is no place fer…” He broke off as he neared the two of them, blinking a few times between her and the Elf. Kindredstar moved to stand beside her, until the leathery old dwarf’s gaze fell squarely on Beka and a glint of recognition alighted in his eyes.
“She is with me, I will be requisitioning your-” The magelord started before he was cut off by the loud outburst of the dwarf. The grizzled old armsmaster roared a laugh and charged forward. Beka had no time to react. Surprised by the dwarf’s outburst and the speed the short old man displayed, she was helpless as the thick arms of the dwarf scooped her from the ground in a crushing hug. Spinning her around enough times to make her start to feel dizzy. He laughed joyously for another difficult breath before setting her down on wobbly legs.
“A Galten! In me armory! A fine wee lass ta boot! Oi, that old son of a bitch mus’ be rollin in his grave! Ahh ha ha ha!” The dwarven armsman roared and stomped the ground, kicking a jig as he clapped his hands together. “That clod said never again! But here ya be! Bugger that you old stick in the mud, I saw the day! HA!” He shouted towards the roof of the armory to someplace far beyond.
“I beg your pardon, Dwarf,” The elf lord declared, his tone as cold and hateful as she had ever heard it before. His blue eyes blazing with anger. “I am here to requisition the camp forge, for the Menagerie...”
“Aye, I know you sniveling paper pusher. You said so las’ week. Why dontcha shut your pretentious flap already. I got ‘er all loaded up over there.” He pointed to a small wheelbarrow covered in a thick tarp. “Now if your done, prancin’ about my armory elf, I can take this fine lass off your hands. And you… you can slither your way back into the pits.” The old dwarf crossed his arms and spat at the floor in front of the sneering elf. The old dwarf huffed and held his gaze, giving him a stern grumble, all but immune to the mage’s ill temper.
“Indeed.” Kindredstar turned to look at her, cold eyes sending another chill up her spine. “I expect to see you in the Menagerie tomorrow morning to begin your work.” He handed her a small stone with an emblem and rune carved on it. ”Present this to the guards to gain entry. I leave you for today in this... miscreant’s care.” He sniffed arrogantly and with a flair of his cloak, spun and quickly strode back through the door they had entered.
“Don't forget ta wipe yer boots on the way out, would not want ta go trackin’ us filth back in to your, ohh, so precious snake pit! Ya cold blooded viper.” The gruff dwarf yelled after the mage before turning to her and beaming a huge wrinkled smile that caused his small eyes to disappear under the low overhang of his bushy eyebrows. “Now, how ‘bout you tell me, what brings a fair young Galten, to me armory. Aye?”
Chapter 13: A Little Bit of Family
Beka opened her mouth to answer the wrinkled old dwarf when he held up his hands to quiet her. The old dwarf was really not that much smaller than she was, though twice her width. His arms rippling with muscles that would put her uncle’s to shame. When the grizzled armsman dropped to one knee and crossed his arms over his chest in the kingdom’s salute, she could not help but blush.
“Allow me first ta introduce me self lass. I am Forge Master Brenton Grot'Alm, O’ his Majesty King Liam's first division Kingsguard. Paladin knight O’ Cross.” He finished his introduction after standing with a dramatic bow and another wrinkled grin that showed how many teeth the old dwarf had left, which was to say not many.
“Wait! You’re Little Bit!” She choked out, trying not to laugh as the dwarfs smile faltered a little, his eyebrows twitching together. Apparently it was not the fond nickname she thought it was. She knew many of the old war stories her father and uncle told of her grandfather and his time spent in the army. Many of them included stories of an ornery dwarf that worked with her grandfather on the campaign against the Primals. Where forge master Galten served making weapons for the army’s elite, the dwarf known to her in the stories as Little Bit fashioned most of the soldiers armor and equipment. The dwarf’s influence was one of the reasons the Silverlight Smithy started selling armor as well as weapons to the public after her grandfather was relieved of duty.
“Aye that's what the old bastard used to call me. That settles it dont it? You are one O’his.” His smile returned and he gripped her forearm in a firm grasp, His calloused hands surprisingly gentle as he shook her hand in greeting. “So what is it? I see you got some elf in ya. You the old dog’s daughter? I don't recall him having a taste for fey, but he was always a wee bit ova dandy.” He released her arm with a chuckle.
“Granddaughter, actually.” Beka smiled at him and repressed a giggle at his remark. For the first time all day she actually felt safe. The disregard the old dwarf had shown to lord Kindredstar made her wonder just what position this forge master held compared to the noble. The fact he not only disrespected him but outright insulted him to his face made this dwarf either insane or one of the most influential people in the kingdom. And her grandfather had called him by a teasing nickname? There had to be a story there. “How did you know my grandfather?” She asked, suspecting it was through his time in the army but wanting to get Little Bit’s side of the tale.
“Oh the lad was assigned to me unit. Back then we was just rank n’ file. I was the camp smith but that loony bastard came into camp claiming he was the greatest smith in the kingdom, an’ that the women fighters should line up to get their measurements for new armor. Now as ya may O' guessed that offended me dwarven pride as well as most O’ the lasses we fought alongside. So I challenged the little upstart to a test. One blade or armor each in one day’s time, best O’ the two gets braggin rites and control O' the camp’s smithy. That an protection from the bloody amazons wantin’ ta wring his neck.” The old dwarf shook his head. “Never seen anythin’ like it. He took a lump O’ raw steel into his tent with a bucket O’ coal, and one damned day later came out with a shining silver blade, An enchanted gods-be-damned artifact! Damn thing could cut through steel as if it was butter.” The dwarf cast his gaze into the distance, lost in the memory. “He cut my dwarven steel short sword in half the moment I presented it.” Little Bit laughed loudly as the two of them stopped by a tarp covered wagon.
“They called that short sword Dwarf Cutter didn't they? Is that why they named it that?�
�� The dwarf’s eye twitched. The sword was well known. The current king kept the blade in his personal treasury as a memento of his father's war against the Primals. An artifact short sword that would slice through any metal was one weapon the king himself would never let slip into other hands.
“Aye don't ya rub it in. You got your granpappy’s mean streak don't ya.” He chuckled, pulling the tarp free of the wagon. “Needless to say he was the camp smith after that, even won over a few O’ the lasses with his display.” He coughed and his face flushed a moment before he changed topics and continued. “The loon was kind enough to give me run of makin’ the men's armor and basic weapons as I had been dooin for years. Your granpappy spent the rest of the campaign makin weapons for the officers and workin, on this.” He gestured to the portable forge sitting in the wagon. The many billows, gears, chains, and pulleys all over the thing looked more like an engineer's nightmare than a forge. “Not many got the skill ta use this nightmare so I'm goin ta show you how ta work the beast. It's not as bad as it looks to be honest, just takes a stern hand and good kick from time to time I swear.” The glint in the old dwarf’s eye told her that was anything but true.
It was well over an hour later before she was feeling confident she would be able to use the complicated device. During that time she learned more through trial and error and her own knack for gadgets than from the dwarf. Which chain to pull, gear to turn, or lever to yank to make the billows work where she needed to heat. Little Bit tried to explain the machine but would frequently get sidetracked and lost in long-winded war stories. Only giving her actual instructions when it was time to learn how to get the main body of the forge to keep hot enough to do her work without it blowing up. Even then Master Brenton continued to tell her stories of her grandfather. Most of them Beka had heard before, and was surprised to hear that many of them were actually true. Or at least not as embellished as she had once believed. At least considering how close her family's stories were to the old armor smith. That or the dwarf was cut from the same mold as her uncle and father, making his tall tales just as overblown and in equal exaggeration. It was a distinct possibility.
