The Brotherhood of Dwarves: Book 01 - The Brotherhood of Dwarves by D.A. Adams Read Free Book Online Page A

considered any alternative, yet here he was at a dead end. Without the general to get him inside the castle, he might never reclaim the treasure. This can’t be happening, he thought.
    “I still get my coins. I did what you asked.”
    “Yes.”
    “Did you know him?” Red asked, sorting through the money to find two he liked.
    “No. Did you?”
    “Yes. Oh yes. He was a great general. I served with him against the ogres.”
    “Really? Do you know of his fortress?”
    “You can’t make me go there,” Red whimpered, rolling away with his coins. The other pieces still shimmered on the floor.
    “It’s okay. I won’t.”
    “Bad place. Bad things happen there.”
    “Like what?”
    Red described the torture chambers, designed by Evil Blade himself specifically for ogres. He told of watching the ogres struggle to escape as part by part their bodies were maimed and broken and of hearing their screams that sounded unreal echoing through the halls, screams he could hear even now. Roskin shuddered at the images and thought of the ogres he had known, of their hatred for that man. It seemed wrong that they would never get their justice. Even though he was dead, he had never been punished properly.
    Roskin returned the other coins to the purse and hung it from his belt. He was unsure of the time but still felt tired, so he told Red that he was going back to sleep. Red asked if he could stay upstairs, and Roskin said yes but also reminded the old man of the dagger. Red fell asleep quickly, wheezing and snoring in the dark, but Roskin barely noticed, falling asleep easily himself.
    He awoke again long after sunrise and found his equipment repacked. Red was not upstairs, and Roskin pulled some dried meats from his pack and had breakfast alone. He wouldn’t abandon his plan for the Brotherhood, but without Evil Blade, he had no idea where to begin. The old man would be no help, and Roskin didn’t know if anyone else had even been to the fortress. Not only that, he was sure few people knew the secret passages. If he did find someone who could show him inside, how would he get them to help? The dead ends seemed endless, so he decided to put the problem from his mind and focus on something he could fix, like the cracked axe.
    After finishing breakfast, he put more salve on his ear, wincing as his fingers touched the tender skin. After rolling up the sleeping bag and slipping on the loaded backpack, he went down the ladder to find Molgheon cleaning the tavern. She didn’t acknowledge that he was there, so he went to the window to look at the town in daylight. To his surprise, he saw Torkdohn driving the wagon up the street. Roskin wanted to step outside and greet his friend, but he knew that might cause problems for the merchant, especially after word reached town about the slain orcs. Perhaps they would meet again, and Roskin would have the opportunity to say a proper farewell to the dwarf.
    The abandoned buildings looked much less eerie in daylight, and Roskin admired the masonry. Murkdolm had been founded by a Ghaldeon named Murkdol some seven hundred years earlier. The dwarf had been a disgruntled nephew of the king and had been asked to leave Sturdeon, so he had traveled west. The original house that he had built and used as an inn still stood by the river. The dark gray blocks were carved from dolerite, and each block was a two foot square. The rows were straight and tight, with no blocks out of line, and the mortar bonds were even and smooth, having very few cracks of any significance. The other buildings had been built during Murkdol’s lifetime and followed the same architecture and materials. They ranged from one to three stories, and a couple were close to a hundred feet in length. Roskin tried to imagine the town before the conquest, the energy and industry that must have existed even in this small town and the pride the dwarves must have felt. He remembered vividly the pride he had felt at seeing the doors of the