“Wow,” I heard him whisper, just barely audible. “Ye enchant things as well?”
“I sure do.” I smiled.
“Could you teach me?” he asked, suddenly very close to me.
“Um, I think that would be up to your ma.” His face fell. “Tell you what, though.” I made a great show of looking around at the other vendors and merchants. Some eyed me. Others looked at both of us in open curiosity. “If you’ll promise me two things, I’ll enchant something for you in return. Okay?”
“Wassat?” He bounced.
“One, always listen to your ma. She seems a nice lady and loves you dearly.” He continued to listen. “And the next time you see Shellica, you tell her thank you for doing the things she does for the glory of the Mountain. I know you don’t understand, but she will. And she may even let you learn to enchant a little if you impress her.”
“Aye, I can do tha’!” He nodded.
“Do you swear?” I asked him in a grave tone.
“Aye, mister.” He stood stock still and put a fist over his little heart. “I swears on me Way and for the glory o’ me beard that I will do as ye ask o’ me.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, then smiled. “Go get your skinning knife.” I watched as he bolted away while motioning for me to follow.
On my way in, I grabbed what I could and placed it in the box I had seen him loading and brought it with me. It was light for me, but for as young as he was, it would’ve been a decent load. Good kid. I smiled to myself and sat the box on a table inside.
The shop we were in was clean and smelled slightly of oils and chemical treatment as well as leather. I heard a stern voice in the rear of the place and went to see what was going on.
This room was brighter than the previous one, and I soon saw why. The room in the back had a low, stone table in the center with grated drains beneath it. There were racks and frames on the left side of the room with an enchanted wall that glowed slightly. On the other side of the room, there were shelves with various instruments, tools, and vials of chemicals and powders that lined the wall.
“A’right, lad, now—gently pull the hide back an’ allow the blade ta do the work,” Natholdi coached.
I watched as Muu bent over some kind of carcass that was on the table I had seen, slid his fingers under the flesh, and slid a blade down the chalked line on the flesh.
“Good.” Natholdi repositioned herself next to him and pointed out of my sight. “Now, make a clean slice under each side of the legs—mind the anus—aye, an’ then under the tail to connect the cut.”
Muu shifted his shoulders and slowly did as he was told. I heard what sounded like meaty fabric tearing. As gruesome as it sounded, I had to admit that he seemed good at it.
“Excel’ent work, lad.” Natholdi patted him on the back. “Yer friend is here. Take a mo’, but hurry back.”
“He can come over here and talk while I work,” I heard Muu mumble.
I had to smile. How many times had I stood in the doorway of his room and harassed him during a boss fight and not blown his concentration?
I nodded at Natholdi, and she smiled back. “Gived me ano’er brigh’ apprentice ye did. Quick wit has this ‘un.”
“Thanks, Natholdi.” I took her aside for a moment. “Look, I made an oath with your boy that he swore he would follow, so I’m going to enchant his skinning knife for him.”
“Tha’ old thing?” She tapped my shoulder. “Was gonna wai’ fer his name day, but he can have it now, I s’pose.” She looked toward the entrance to the room, backed up three paces, and reached up on top of a shelf for a box that she pulled down.
As she stepped forward with it, her son walked slowly into the room.
“Get ye here, boy,” Natholdi told her son sternly. He shuffled over to his mother, looking from her to me with clear worry. “What’d ye do?”
“I dinae do anythin’, ma,” he said with worry.
She narrowed her eyes. “I hear’d different. Do nae lie ta me, lad. Speak.”
“I dinae do anythin’ bad,” he amended. “I made a dwarves’ oath wi’ mister fox. He gived me the terms, I found ‘em agr’able, an’ I gived him me word. Just like ye would’ve.”
“Oh, aye?” She observed him with a little haughtier of a gaze. “Be ye thinkin’ yer Dwarf enough to keep yer word gived to a stranger? What were the terms ye speak of, boy. An’ how do ye ‘spect to keep ‘em?”
He looked to me, closed his eyes, and spoke, “I swore on me Way and me beard tha’ I will always listen ta me ma ‘cause she loves me dear. And tha’ the next time I sees Lady Shelly ta thank her fer her service ta the glory of the Mountain. Even though I donae know what it means righ’ now—she will. And tha’s the importan’ part. Aye, mister?”
I nodded. “That’s absolutely true.”
I looked over to see the look of pure, unadulterated pride on Natholdi’s face. With tears in her eyes, she knelt before the boy and held the box in front of him.
“If yer ta have a proper gift from an exchanged oath, ye need a proper skinnin’ knife. Here ye are, me boy.”
He gingerly handed me his old knife, then slowly lifted the lid of the box. Inside, in a sheath of finely made leather beneath it, was a skinning knife. The design itself was simple—the mithral blade had a wicked-looking hook at the base of the blade opposite the true cutting edge. This gave way to a slightly serrated edge that stopped and led to a smooth edge that led to the pointed tip of the knife. The bladed cutting edge was finely honed with a kind of bell shape to the bottom. The handle also had a simple design of sturdy-looking wood that would fit his hand for years to come. It was oddly shaped for me, but he loved it.
“This fer me, ma?” he asked in wonder. His hand was poised over it, but he was afraid to touch it.
“Aye, pick it up, me boy,” Natholdi encouraged him. “This was ta be fer yer name day, but ye earned yer name today.”
He picked it up reverently. He admired it in the light of the room and smiled brightly.
“Can I see it?” I asked. “I need to hold it to enchant it.”
He nodded and handed it gingerly to me. I looked it over again as I decided on a design that would help him remember his oath to me.
“You’re going to see me do magic now,” I informed him and Natholdi. “There’s no need to be afraid. You are both safe. I swear it by the Mountain.”
They nodded, but Natholdi still took her son’s shoulder and pulled him to her. Despite that, I smiled and focused on the design, then brought my mana to my fingertip. The mana began to take shape. Once it was fully formed, I pressed it into the blade so that it passed all the way through to the other side. Both Dwarves gasped slightly. The boy looked like he was about to cry.
“I need you to trust me.”
He bit his lip and nodded once.
I had accidentally done this earlier, but it had worked out well, so here went nothing. I brought out some of my diamond powder, a generous pinch, and focused my will and intent. As I funneled my mana into the item, I sprinkled the powder over the blade and continued pouring my mana in until I felt it was enough. All told, I had spent 300 MP on the little item.
I looked it over and smiled—it had turned out better than I had hoped. The engraved hole was in the shape of a three-tailed fox, but rather than being a hole, it was sealed with pure diamond. The cutting edge was now diamond and wickedly sharp.
Fox’s Promise
So long as the owner of this item upholds the tenants of the oath made to the Kitsune Zekiel Erebos, this blade will cut true, never dull, never rust, and never stain or chip.
Skinning knife made by Master Smith Sandier Stone Hammer, enchanted by Craftsman Enchanter Zekiel Erebos.
I handed it to his mother, so she could see that it wasn’t cursed. She held the item to her chest, and I watched as her lip quivered slightly before she nodded her head at me once.
“Ye take care o’ this tool, lad,” she advised her son, “and it’ll take care of you. Aye?”
“Aye, ma,” he said as he held his hands level in front of him. “Does this mean I earned me name?”
“Aye, lad,” Natholdi said as she handed him the tool. “But we shall wait fer yer da ta come home afore I tell ye. We thought long an’ hard on it, aye? Ye want yer da ta be here?”
The boy’s eyes lit up, and his smile split his face. “Aye!”
He looked over to me, Fox’s Promise in his hand and his thick thumb tracing the image I had imbued it with, “Thank ye, mister. This is a real nice thing, I swears I’ll keep me word ta ye.”
“I know you will.” I ruffled his downy hair playfully. I kneeled down next to him and beckoned to come closer. “You know, I met the Mountain once? Me and Shellica? Did you know he made you special?” He looked at me skeptically. “He did. And you know what he told me to do?”
“Wassat, mister?” he asked.
“He said to work hard, fight well, and drink with friends.” I pointed to his new knife. “I need you to make some quality items for your people. I need you to make sure that the weak around you—those who can’t protect themselves—are protected. And I need you to make lasting friendships that you can share a pint over. If you can do that for me, I think the Mountain would be happy with you too. What do you think?”
As I spoke those words to him, I prayed silently, deeply, that I would one day be able to say something similar to my own son. To help push him to always be his best self and to think of others over himself.
“That sounds a lot like him,” I heard Shellica’s voice behind me.
I watched the fear and uncertainty pass over the little Dwarven boy’s face in waves. He held his knife up in front of his face by the hilt, gripped it tightly, and closed his eyes. When he opened them, there was a determined look on his face.
He marched right up to Shellica, his back rigid and his steps as measured as a child’s could be. He stood in front of her and showed her the knife in his hand. She looked at him curiously but remained quiet.
“I was wrong afore, Lady Shelly,” he began. His voice wavered, but he nodded to himself and pressed on, “I was wrong ta treat ye like I did. Me ma holds ye in high ‘steem, and I knows why now. Ye do a lot fer the glory o’ the Mountain. I wanna say, thank ye. Thank ye fer all tha’ ye do. An’ fer doin’ it, though we other Dwarves donae know what ye always do.”
Shellica looked from the boy, shocked at his words. Then she tapped the knife before her. She gasped and held her hand out for it with a small, “Please, lad?” He handed it over to her without complaint, and she gasped again.
“This is a very, very nice tool, young one,” she said as she handed it to him hilt first. “Guard it well.”
He smiled at her from ear to ear—and while he was feeling brave—he wrapped his arms around Shellica’s waist. “I ‘preciate what ye do, though I donae understand.”
Shellica smiled, her features softening and hugged the boy back. Her hand on the top of his head, she leaned down and whispered as dwarvenly as I’ve ever heard her speak, “Yer welcome. Get ye ta yer ma, sweet boy.”
He nodded once and skipped over to his momma.
“Master Erebos.” Shellica stood and turned her back to me. “A word?” She swept into the next room swiftly.
I looked at Natholdi holding her son. I nodded once to her, then looked to Muu who was still absorbed in his work.
I walked into the next room, ready for hell to find my trainer with her arms crossed. “Yes?” I raised my eyebrows.
“What. In the Nine Hells. Do you think you are doing?” She tried to keep her voice calm. Though I could hear the anger in her tone, there was something else too. Her shoulders shook slightly. Her typically stoic, manic-looking face was a little less composed.
“I gave a gift to a child I felt deserved it,” I answered truthfully. “So far as I have seen, he has upheld the tenants of his oath to me and so long as he does—his blade will work better than anything like it.”
“I saw the enchantment, lad,” she growled. “You foolishly gave him a tool that could break at the slightest displeasure of his ma.”
“From what I could see, she’s so proud of him that as long as he remains true to himself—he should be fine,” I retorted. “Natholdi seems to love her son greatly. Not to mention the fact that the tool will only do those things so long as he’s not listening to her.”
“And what if we’re attacked again, and he’s tryin’,” she took a moment to compose herself before continuing, “and he’s trying to defend her? What if she tells him to flee and he refuses? That tool that he has would likely be his only defense and you’ve given it to him. You make this right!”
I thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I wasn’t thinking. You’re sure it’s not because he thanked you.”
“Don’t you start that with me, child.” She growled. “I told ye ta leave it alone. We bear this responsibility with honor.”
“Yeah, but there’s no reason that you need to suffer for it,” I shot back. “The Mountain may have made all of you tough, but you aren’t stone yet. You feel. You are capable of falling—and you all walk the same path. The same Way. Your path is no less perilous and fraught with decisions and loneliness as his would be in the same position you are in. And guess what—even though he doesn’t know exactly what you do, he understands that it’s for the glory of your god.”
She stood there and glowered at me silently, so I added in low, pleading tone, “He’s not afraid anymore, Shellica—he even asked if I would teach him enchanting! You may not take him, but he understands that it isn’t evil anymore. Think of a whole generation of Dwarves who understand what your clan gave up in order to be able to help protect them with magical means.”
Her eyebrows raised slightly, and finally, she asked, “What is it you think we gave up?”
“Kinship with your fellow Dwarf,” I persisted. “Nights in the taverns and pubs with your people celebrating a hard day at work. The ability to walk down the street without someone spitting in your direction to ward off evil. People thinking you’re somehow less of a Dwarf than they are.”
Shellica frowned, her eyes lowered toward the ground. Finally, she looked back up and nodded once. “Yer not wrong, lad. Forgive me. I was not myself. It’s been some time since a young one approached me so. I thought it some sort of trick until I saw the knife.”
“I love the things you’ve taught me.” I put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m grateful. And this is my way of accidentally showing that gratitude.”
“Accidentally?” She looked at me oddly, then began to cackle. “Never mind it, lad. Come on.”
Before she walked back into the room, I stopped her with a click of my tongue. She looked back. “What?”
“What’s a name day?” Heat flooded my cheeks at my ignorance.
She smiled and stepped closer to me, “That is the day that a young Dwarf earns his or her name, typically on their twelfth year, though there are cases where it happens sooner if the parents get a good feel for the child.”
“It’s not a clan decision?” I wondered.
“If the Dwarves are a part of a clan, the clan head could help with the decision. Also if they’re fortunate enough to apprentice outside a familial trade, their master would be able to give input,” Shellica explained. “But Natholdi and her husband are clanless, and her boy is apprenticed only to her. So the ultimate decision is their’s.”
“There are clanless Dwarves?” I whispered harshly. “How?!”
“Their lot was taken and destroyed when the Drow came in their largest invasion.” Shellica looked toward the doorway to the shop and a large Dwarf, easily the tallest I had seen stepped inside. He wore simple clothes, a pair of black breeches tucked into brown boots, and a brown and white shirt. The brown portion around his stomach looked to made of sturdy leather that the cloth on top was sewn on to.
“And we have nae decided ta join another for lack of their interest,” he add
ed. “Hello, Shelly. Come ‘round for a proper meal? Who’s our guest?”
“Granite, hello.” Shellica walked over and gave the large figure a hug. “This is my apprentice, Zekiel. He’s a member of the Mugfist Clan.”
“Mugfist, eh?” He stepped in. The Dwarf’s beard was blond and long with beads and other decorations braided in. His eyes were a sharp brown, and he had an easy smile that put me at ease right away. His muscled form loomed closer, muscles rippling with each easy step forward. He was a big dude.
Reminded me of someone really strong who looked like they had a stomach, but they just had abs that were thick as hell. Like powerlifters. They looked fat but could toss around hundreds of pounds with ease.
“Hello, Zekiel of Clan Mugfist.” The Dwarf offered a meaty hand for me to shake. I clasped it and he introduced himself, “Me name’s Granite.”
“Nice to meet you, Granite.” I smiled at him and hoped he wouldn’t crush my hand in his. His grip was firm but not overbearing. Good man.
“Tha’ me husband?” I heard Natholdi called.
Their son burst through the door with his knife held out in front of him, and Granite acted before any of us knew what was going on.
He grabbed the boy by the wrist, flicked the knife down and round while still in the wielder’s grasp, and had him on his rump with the blade pointed away from his son but the handle in his chest. Granite had his knee behind the boy to support him and patted his head affectionately.
“Remember, son,” Granite spoke calmly despite the flurry of motion, “always take care ta practice safety wit’ yer blades, aye? Could get hurt, or more importantly, hurt someone else. An’ how do we feel about tha’?”
“Only ta defend, only ta protect, always ta do right an’ ne’er neglect—the oath of we who follow the Way,” the boy spoke the words passionately as his father and mother mouthed them along. “Ta watch fer our brothers and sisters, an’ help ‘em live another day.”
“Aye, good lad.” Granite bent down a bit and placed a kiss on the top of his son’s head. “Wha’s this, now? A new skinnin’ knife? Let’s have a wee look.”
Into the Dragon's Den (Axe Druid Book 2) Page 33
