Into the Light (Axe Druid Book 1)

by Christopher Johns

  “How do you even know what the right amount is?!” I cried in exasperation.

  “Me?” She pointed to herself. “Instinct.” I groaned. “You? Well, you will learn not to oversaturate it. How much mana did you use to power that?”

  Thinking back, I had blown my entire pool of mana—four hundred forty MP into that one tiny ring. Now I understood why it was wrong. The thoughts in my mind must have shown on my face because my teacher chuckled.

  “So you see now,” she began. “You oversaturated it. That one small ring, and you used up all your mana. On a much larger item? I could see the need, but a ring? No. Again.”

  And that’s how I spent my time with her. For days, she showed me the appropriate amounts of mana to use on certain items, design ideas to engrave that would strengthen certain types of spells, and she helped me redo some of my earlier works. I didn’t necessarily learn all that much that was new from her than that. She didn’t teach me any new kinds of enchantments, just theories and advice where she thought it was needed. Which, in her mind, was every time I did any-damned-thing.

  Despite her previously seeming insanity, I could see her brilliance. It didn’t make her any less nuts, but hey—we all have our quirks, right?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  By the end of the week, our weapons and gear that we had requested were finished. I had raised my enchanting to level 26, which actually gave me a full character level once I hit level 20 with the crafting skill. I even put my intelligence at forty-five points and added two points to wisdom and constitution each—putting me at thirty-four and twenty-seven respectively.

  I was now considered a Layman Enchanter. My enchanting skills and spells were much stronger than before, and now I didn’t over saturate my items. It was a nice feeling.

  “So you think you’re rid of me, do you?” the old hag, as I had endearingly begun to call Shellica, said. “There’s still the not-so-small matter of payment.”

  I sighed and turned around, “Wasn’t my suffering payment enough, you old crone?”

  She cackled in delight at my blatant disrespect. The third time I had gone completely ape shit and tried to attack her, I had called her everything—including the kitchen sink. She had burst into tears, she had laughed so hard. Through gasping breaths, she had said it was refreshing and to keep it coming.

  “Think of that as merely the head on the mead, my little screw up,” she purred. “No, my payment is that you will tell all who ask who trained you and my clan’s name. Next, you will not lose your Way. You must always help kin in need, lest he turned against the Way and his kin. Finally, hold still.”

  She stepped closer to me and plucked some of the fur growing on my arm, not a couple hairs but a patch. I growled at the pain and bared my teeth at her.

  “A memento for an old lady.” She smiled and patted my shoulder. “I’ll miss having you around, lad.”

  “Like a hole in the head,” I half joked. Truth was, I liked her a little. She pushed me to better myself and didn’t coddle me too much. It was nice.

  She waved me away. “Goodbye, shitty little fox.”

  “Later, damn stump granny.” I smiled at her and walked back to the clan’s hall. Her clansmen looked at me in both open horror and mild respect as I left. They were terrified of her—rightfully so—but seeing someone talk to her that way was new to them. I think some of them liked it a little.

  I was so spent the last week that I had no idea what was going on with any of my friends. I was excited to see how their own apprenticeships had panned out.

  When I arrived to the hall, lunch was set at the dining table: great racks of ham and bread with cold cheeses to be used to make sandwiches and lunch mead, as we had begun calling it. These guys ran on alcohol, I swore it, and they would too. My friends were gathered around the table with some of the Dwarves they’d begun to associate with.

  “Hey, guys!” I greeted them as I walked over. They all greeted me, and we started to catch up with each other.

  Yoh had been bored out of his mind, so he’d begun exploring the city, trying to find a place to learn some new recipes. Turns out that a clan down the way owned a restaurant that they let him begin working in it. He spent a week with the head chef there, cooking like a mad man. He was well on his way to journeyman with his cooking skill, only about two or three levels away.

  The same could be said for both Balmur and Jaken, both of whom leveled their skills up to almost journeyman level. James didn’t have any crafting abilities, so he had spent most of his time just hanging out with our hosts and beating on the troops when he got bored. More than a few of the Mugfist Clan members gave him a wide berth when he came onto the sparring field.

  “It was some bullshit, man,” Bokaj had said at last. “I searched this whole damn city for wood—haha laugh it up, man—all they had were bits for pommels and shit. I couldn’t do anything. I’ve been so bored. I actually got an instrument, though, so you know, that was cool.”

  The instrument in question looked suspiciously like a guitar, which I’d seen him play before back home, and he was pretty fucking amazing.

  We all spent some time together, speaking about our training and how much the others had grown to respect their crafts. I told the group about my time with Shellica, and they all couldn’t believe she was the way I said, so Farnik had to back me up on it. We spoke well into the evening, and all went to bed around the same time. We would get our things in the morning, then set out to get on with our mission.

  We all woke up and had breakfast with Granda. The old Dwarf chewed his bacon and eggs enthusiastically, as if he was just as excited for us to get our items as we were. Once we had all eaten our fill, we went to the receiving room where we had first met the old Dwarf and waited as he began to show us what he had made.

  The first thing he pulled the cloth back from was a new sword and shield for Jaken. The sword was beautiful and deadly with a long, thick, double-sided blade, forged from what I now knew was mithral. The shield was beautiful as well. Thin but stronger than the shield he had used before. It had his Goddess’s crest on it, a golden ball of light. When he picked both up, he commented on how light they felt. The armor had the same motif and design on it. It too was made of mithral and weighed significantly less than he was used to.

  Next, Granda pulled the cloth back on a matching pair of the strangest looking weapons I think I had ever seen. They had the head of a hand axe and the haft as well, but at the bottom, each curved down into a thick dagger. The metal was a dark color that looked slightly like gun metal, but I wasn’t sure what to make of it.

  “Wow,” breathed Balmur. He picked them up almost reverently.

  “I told ye I had an idea I wanted to try.” Granda chuckled. “They be made of a light alloy, mithral and ebon iron. Rare metal, that, but I wanted to see if it would take, and it did. Oh it did.”

  “What are they called?” I asked without thinking.

  “Well, I haven’t named ‘em.” He shrugged. “Any suggestions?”

  “Mountain Fangs,” Balmur whispered.

  “Oh, lad,” said Granda. “Ye be well along the Way. Mountain Fangs it is.”

  Unfortunately, Granda’s clan specialized in metal armor, so Balmur and the rest of us who thrived without it were shit out of luck. The weapons were cool as hell, though.

  Next, Granda pulled back the cloth, and there was a matching pair of daggers made from the same alloy as Balmur’s Mountain Fangs and a set of what looked like black metal brass knuckles attached to gloves.

  “I know that Monks pride themselves on unarmed combat, but I thought that a little extra ‘umph,’ might be called for, eh?”

  “Thanks.” James tried them on and flicked out a strike, testing the weight and feel. “I’ll get used to them.”

  “Now, I know they aren’t your weapon of choice, but I can’t make a metal bow for ye, lad. Me apologies.”

  “It’s cool, Granda, I’m just happy you thought of me.” Bokaj took the daggers
and their sheaths and started to attach them to his belt manually.

  Finally, Granda pulled back the cloth above my weapon. The axe was like something I could have never even dreamed of. The metal was golden hued and black in some places. The head of the axe was as large as my blood axe but had a curvature to it like a lightning bolt. The feathers that had been part of the loot from the Lightning Roc had been worked into the blade, sharpened and fanned out like a wing. The metallic feathers formed a serrated edge. The rear of the axe’s blade came to a protruding head like a large hammer. The haft of the axe was made of the same combination of black and gold metals. It was captivating and feral, an odd combination of words—I know, trust me—but that’s how it felt to look at it.

  “I been making weapons going nigh on a century,” Granda said. “I love this craft more than anything, other than me wife, of course, and some good mead. Nevertheless! This, this was a fun project. The metals we used to make this ate up the supply of ore you gave me, me apologies, but the ebon iron will work well and compliment the elemental damage of the lightning ore you gave me. We’re calling the alloy it makes shadow lightning. The feathers there are harder than the blade itself, so they will cut well. I’m proud of all of these works of mine. Thank you for your patronage.”

  I didn’t even want to touch it because I knew as soon as I did, I wouldn’t be able to pay attention to anything else around me.

  “What do you ask in payment for this gear, Granda?” Farnik asked.

  “Well, take into account the cost of labor, fuel,” the old Dwarf grumbled and figured with his fingers. “Taking into account that you provided a large portion of the materials we used, allowed us to take one of your own for a small apprenticeship, and let me have my way with the creation. Top notch work that was by the way, Jaken lad. Also, the clan discount knocks a bit off too. I’d figure around one hundred gold for Jaken’s gear. Now, that does come with full plate leggings and bracers lad, so that’s a damned fine deal there.”

  ”Done.” Jaken pulled the coinage out of his trouser pocket and gave it to the Dwarf without a second thought.

  Next, Balmur paid fifty gold, Bokaj thirty, and the same for James. My own took more than a little bit of thought. I ended up happily shelling out one hundred of my own gold for the weapon. That was after I had let them use and keep the materials they hadn’t used. Damn, the axe had better be worth it.

  “Will it take an enchantment?” I asked. “Not that I don’t love your work, but we need every available edge we can get.”

  “I know ye meant no disrespect lad.” He nodded and closed his eyes in thought. “Aye. Each of these weapons and the armor will take enchantments. The metals we used are highly absorbent to magic, though yer axe may be a little temperamental with it. Ye’d better ask the enchanter outside on that part. He might be able to examine it for you.”

  “Thank you, Granda.”

  “Give ‘em hell out there, lads!” He grinned and shook all of our hands before leaving.

  Garen entered next with a medium sized chest which he sat on the table gently, and a cloaked figure strode in behind him. The grey cloth hid everything from sight, and I couldn’t make out who it was. Although, my nose was telling me I knew the scent. I really needed to get a hang of my heightened senses.

  “Here are the items each of you requested, made to the best of our abilities.”

  The Dwarf pulled out four small drawers from the chest and handed one to each of my friends.

  He clasped his hands in front of his thin body and waited while his customers looked over their things.

  Farnik cleared his throat loudly, “Ahem, I assume you have Zekiel’s items as well?”

  “We received no orders from him,” Garen sniffed. “Clearly he thinks he can do better on his own.”

  “That’s bullshit, and you know it, Garen,” I growled at him, stepping forward.

  “No, it isn’t,” he snapped back. “You were so busy wasting our clan head’s time and hard-made items that you didn’t put any requests forward. It’s too late now, you animal.”

  “YOU WILL NOT SPEAK SO TO A FRIEND OF THE MUGFIST CLAN!” Farnik roared, rocketing out of his seat so fast the heavy chair clattered to the floor.

  “I do have to agree with Farnik, Garen—you overstep,” spoke the cloaked figure. Hands cleared the sleeves and pulled back the hood. Shellica stood there with a grim look on her face. I thought I had scented death and insanity.

  “Matron,” Garen yelped and fell to his knees before her. Everyone else was surprised to see her, too. Then I remembered my True Sight skill, and it made sense that I could see her and no one else could.

  “Please, I can explain!” he began to plead, looking up at her beseechingly. “The rest of th–“

  “No.” She stared at him with an intensity that I had seen before. In our week together, the only time she had looked at me in that same way was the hardest day I had lived here so far. His face fell, and I almost felt sorry for the little bastard.

  ”Your racist remarks are not lost on me, Garen,” she growled. “You had better go back to the hall. You and I have much to discuss. And Garen? Yes, look up at me now, lad—it will not be pleasant.”

  “Yes, matron.” He stood and shuffled out of the room.

  “My apologies, Farnik. My clan has sullied your hospitality,” she said with a nod to our host.

  Farnik looked like he had seen a ghost and just waved it away. “N-no problem, Shellica.”

  “Nonsense,” the female Dwarf countered. “As is the custom, I will have a dozen barrels of my finest mead brought to your clan within the hour.”

  Farnik just nodded and fumbled with his chair a bit before falling into it.

  “Lad, I took it upon myself to make your items. I made one for the rest of you, as well.” She pulled something out of her pocket, a bag no larger than a sack someone would use to carry their lunch, and began pulling things out.

  The first was a set of five earrings, all of them made of jet black metal with a single obsidian stone piece dangling from a thick link of blackened chain. It looked very ominous.

  “Earrings of Telepathy,” she explained. “They will allow you to mentally communicate with each other up to a mile apart. It works by will, so don’t worry, your thoughts are your own.”

  She tossed me a simple mithril ring with a clear gem set into it. It was a Ring of Storage that functioned just like the one Yoh had. The next was a bracelet made from rough onyx. When I slipped it on, it shrunk so that it fit my furred wrist perfectly.

  “An Elemental Bracelet,” explained the crazy old bat. “It halves the damage of magical attacks with elemental affinities and stores the magics in the bracelet to be used by you.”

  “How?”

  “You’ll decide.” She shrugged. “You can add the magic to a spell that you cast or to a weapon attack, a punch, a fart, who cares. Should I take it back?” Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

  “No!” I blurted and pulled it close to my body. I liked how that sounded; being able to turn my enemies’ magic against them was always a good idea. Halving elemental damage? Sign me the hell up for that.

  “Good lad.” She patted the table. There next to her hand was a thick band of dark-colored material with a large, black stone that seemed to suck up the very light from the area around it.

  I lifted it up, and she cackled. “Proud of this one, I am. That’s a Shade Realm Collar. Only one I ever made, and I don’t be wanting to make another. It will let you store one willing creature of your choice safely for as long as you like. When you want the creature to come out, simply summon them with your will.”

  “How…” I started to say, but she held up a hand.

  “You mentioned a creature called Kayda and how much you wish she could have been here.” She smiled in a matronly way. “I thought that this might help a bit.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Right. Oh my!” she exclaimed as she looked at my great axe still on the table. She hefted it wit
h no visible strain and looked it over intently. “Oh yes, yes, this will do quite nicely for a weapon this lovely.”

  She closed her eyes and began to hum to herself. Her mana flowed from her fingers, a bright yellow light that etched lightning down the haft of the weapon, the bolts arcing out and touching each other in matching patterns, spiraling down the haft. It looked like touching it would shock anyone. As she finished, she sat the weapon down and smiled at me.

  “No charge at all. You paid my price, and my son disrespected you and the Mugfist Clan. For that, none of you have to pay for the earrings.”

  I went to touch the weapon in front of me, but Farnik stopped me.

  “The first time you touch it, you have to name it,” he said gravely. “It’s a tradition with weapons so well done. Granda outdid himself on this one.”

  I thought of what I might call the weapon and picked it up.

  “Storm Caller.”

  Storm Caller

  +8 to attacks, +5 to lightning damage

  Weight: 30 Lbs

  Returning weapon – weapon will return to the owner’s hand at will in the most direct route possible.

  Weapon forged by Grandmaster Smith Granda of the Stone Hammer Clan and enchanted by Grandmaster Shellica of the Light Hand Clan.

  “Can we go test these out?” I asked.

  “I’d be offended if you didn’t.” Farnik laughed.

  We all went into the training yard, and a few of the Dwarves were training there with their axes. Training dummies were erected in front of a wall for us, and we decided to test our new weapons that way.

  Balmur threw his, and they arced right into the dummy with his typical accuracy. The two Mountain Fangs blurred out of existence and came to rest back in their places on his new belt. Bokaj threw his new daggers at the same dummy, and they sailed nicely. He actually had to go and get them, but they worked. That was all that mattered.

  I lifted my new weapon and activated Wind Scythe, sending Storm Caller spinning at the dummy before me. It was surprisingly light for how brutal of a weapon it looked to be. The great axe connected and, with a muted zapping sound, set the straw inside on fire, and the head lodged in the wall behind it. I was about to run forward to collect it when I remembered the enchantment. I thought of holding the weapon again, and it turned into a bright lightning bolt and streaked back into my hand. The electricity didn’t burn or hurt in the slightest. As soon as my grip was secured, the bolt reverted into my axe.