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

Kireghegon Halls, and for a moment, he felt the same about the withering town of Murkdolm. He studied the buildings for a few more minutes, trying to guess what each structure had been, but his imagination failed, and he decided to see about fixing his axe.
    “Where’s Grussard’s shop? I need to repair something,” he said to Molgheon.
    “Up the road a bit,” she said, not looking up from the metal tankards that she was scrubbing. “Red can show you.”
    “Where’s he?”
    “Out back with a bottle. You shouldn’t give him no more money. He’ll be drunk for weeks, the poor thing.”
    Roskin excused himself and went outside to find the old man, who was standing in a small plaza and facing north. Roskin had to shield his eyes from the sun as he opened the back door, and at first he could only see the old man’s silhouette. Standing erect in daylight, Red looked imposing to the young dwarf for a moment. He was at least a foot and a half taller than Roskin and didn’t look as frail as he had curled up on the floor. His tangled, gray hair nearly reached his waist, and his beard touched his chest. His face was splotched with scars across his forehead and cheeks, but his eyes, though bloodshot, were fierce and bold in the morning light. He turned to the dwarf and smiled, revealing a full set of dirty teeth.
    “Morning, young master,” Red said, holding the bottle, which was two thirds full, towards Roskin. His voice, while still raspy and thin, was much stronger than during the night. “Care for a taste of Murkdolm’s best whiskey. I bought a whole crate.”
    “No thanks. I was hoping you could lead me to Grussard’s shop.”
    “For you, anything, but that axe is beyond repair.”
    With that, Red turned and started down the alley, walking with a determined stride that Roskin would have never believed possible. The dwarf struggled to keep pace as Red passed by the stone houses, and when they reached the blacksmith’s shop, Roskin was slightly winded. Red sat on a wooden bench by the side door and took a drink from his bottle. Roskin hesitated for a moment, then entered the building. The rhythmic clang of hammer on metal filled the room, and he watched as Grussard fashioned the blade of a broadsword. When the shape was to his satisfaction, Grussard dipped the sword in a barrel of black water, causing a sharp hiss and a puff of steam. He hung the blade on a hook and reached for another piece of metal but stopped when he saw Roskin in the doorway.
    “Morning,” Grussard said flatly.
    Without speaking, Roskin pulled out his axe and extended it to the blacksmith. Grussard took it and looked at the cracked weapon for a couple of seconds. Then, he tossed the weapon on a junk pile, muttering something about Kiredurk weapons that Roskin didn’t completely catch.
    “I need an axe,” Roskin said.
    “I can see that. What do you expect from me?”
    “I want to buy one.”
    “Well, I know you can afford it, but I can’t make any axes. That’s the law.”
    “And a son of the Resistance always obeys.”
    “Watch it, pup.”
    “What can you make that I could wield?”
    Grussard went to the far wall and fingered through several swords, finding a blade that was just over two feet long. He removed the sword from its hook and tested the balance by swinging it in a figure eight several times. He smiled proudly and handed it to Roskin, who hadn’t held a sword since Bordorn had taught him almost ten years before.
    “A fine sword for your height,” Grussard said. “But it’s not yet very sharp.”
    “How much?”
    “Five of those old coins.”
    “Sounds steep by your reasoning last night.”
    “It is, but the price of selling arms to dwarves is my life, so it’s five coins or nothing.”
    Tucking the sword under his arm, Roskin opened his purse and saw that he only had six coins total, so he made an offer of three. Grussard laughed and looked at the broken axe on his scrap pile, scratching his beard and humming a