The other Dwarves nodded and made placating gestures and went back to their sparring and training.
I swear, if they didn’t kill him, I very damned well could have at that moment.
Brawnwynn came over to us and motioned that we all come inside. Farnik clapped Muu on the shoulder good-naturedly, and we all stepped forward to follow.
After we cleared the doorway, Brawnwynn turned and looked at his father. “Don’t fret, da. I’ll let them know what happened. Ye should go and see to the others. Let them know that no disrespect was meant.”
“Well look at ye, orderin’ about the head o’ the clan?” Farnik teased, and the younger Dwarf paled. “Relax, boy. I’m not so weak as I’d let the tale go untold. Go fix the others, ye let me do the tellin’ o’ me wife’s honor.”
Brawnwynn nodded and stepped through all of us and outside the door.
“Come, let's go to the mess and have a chat.” Farnik turned and walked off down the hallway toward a door at the end of the hall.
“What the fuck, man?!” I whispered harshly.
“I didn’t know!” Muu whispered back. “How was I supposed to? Did you?”
Jaken prodded us both. “None of us did. He said he would explain and that it was okay. Relax.”
We followed Farnik through the door into the large dining hall that lay beyond. This was where we had shared many a meal with the rest of the clan. And many a laugh. But it seemed from the somber mood of the Dwarf leading us that today would be a little different.
We sat down as Farnik poured all of us a tall mug of mead, then water for Yohsuke, and finally a mug of mead for himself. He took a long draft from his mug, filled it again then wandered back over to us.
“When first we met, ye remember Brawny tellin’ ye bout the time we had been invaded by a large number of Drow forces?” he asked us. All of us but Muu nodded, so he continued, “Largest invasion we had ever see’d. Scores of the dirty Elves and their slaves—Driders, Drow Elves twisted by their dark deity and given the lower half a large spider and all other manner of ill begotten creatures.”
There were stories of the Dark Elves in our own world as well, tales of their cunning and cruelty to anyone, their own, other races—fuck, if you weren’t them they hated you and you fucking knew it. They usually boasted highly powerful Mages and martial prowess. Not to mention they enslaved hundreds of Goblinoids and other creatures to fight with.
He lifted his mug in contemplation of how to continue, took a sip, and sighed. “They dug straight up beneath us, center o’ the city. They were crazy. Driven mad by some fell power. Never see’d anything like it. The Mugfist, as ye know, act as the standing army. Warriors, we be. Weren’t none finer than me wife, Gerty. She led our forces, along another score o’ warriors from some of the other clans tha’ could spare the men straigh’ away. I led the second wave o’ defenders, with the masons who could close tha’ bloody hole the damned Dark Elves had made.”
Fell power? I peeked up a bit. That could be a minion. Or fuck, even a general? Maybe. Let him finish man.
Farnik shook his head with a smile. “It were a bloodbath. See’d a beautiful savagery from me wife like I had never see’d before. She moved and wove her battle axes through more’n a dozen Kobold slaves, slew a Drider, an’ squared off against a half dozen Drow warriors. Only a couple o’ her most trusted warriors at her back. She worked quick, even as we got to her, she were almost finished with ‘em when the worst happened.”
A tear slid down his right cheek, but his words never quavered.
“As she were preparin’ to strike at the last two, a bubble o’ darkness burst where she had been and this horrible sucking sound. Then the screams of me wife and her captains. Then nothin’.”
His lips contorted in rage and his gaze was faraway in that moment. “Then I saw her, this she devil in black robes and a spider in white tattooed over her features—priestess of Lolth with her hand outstretched and this cock-sure grin.”
“I could nae control meself!” He slammed his mug so hard the hard clay object shattered, and we all jumped. His formerly more cultured tone and vocabulary falling into more common Dwarven verbiage. “Me wife, her mithral plate as fine as ever forged had been there but a wee moment before in full glory to the Mountain. I screamed me rage at the world and went at her. I remember naught of the proceedin’s but that I ended the fight with me bare hands round the dirty Elf’s throat, her eyes rolled back, and foam from me own mouth on her cheek.”
He sighed as if the memory of his rage had sapped his energy now in this moment. Looking at him, he appeared older. Shaken. He blinked, clearing away some of that age and a little of the hurt faded, but it wasn’t completely gone.
“Couldn’t find a body after.” Another tear strayed into the line of his beard. “Could nae give’r a proper burial.” He looked at Muu. “Ye didn’t know, lad, and that were a good one—it were. But a lot o’ the lads remember losing their general and one o’ the greatest Fighters they ever know’d. Hell, she taught a good deal o’em how ta hold an axe. It’s a sore spot, be ye sure.”
“Farnik, I’m so sorry,” Muu tried to apologize.
“Do nae apologize, lad.” He took a moment to compose himself. His barrel chest expanded and his back straightened. “I will nae have a guest be hated for their ignorance, not in me home. Not with me clan. Zeke, if ye would be so kind as to send a message to my son? Have him bring the clan here in a few hours. We will hold a feast tonight to celebrate yer return.”
I complied with his request, and Brawnwynn replied that he would see it done.
“Now, tell me—where is Balmur?” Farnik asked curiously.
We looked at each other, and Bokaj cleared his throat. “It’s kind of a long story after we left you. So, if you’ll get yourself another mug—I’ll fill you in.”
It took a while, with some of us filling gaps and differing perspectives at times, but when we finished our tale, Farnik’s grave expression left me a little troubled.
“This is bad, lads.” Farnik growled. “Cousin Balmur needs whatever aid the clan can give. Ye said ye had planned to look for Dragons?”
“Specifically green or black,” James put in. “We aren’t sure how the others would treat us.”
“Quite right.” Farnik stood and began to pace. After a moment, he stopped. “You’ll be properly equipped. I’ll have a runner sent to Granda and the witch right away.”
“Already taken care of.” I tapped my head. “I sent them both messages when we arrived. They’ll be here in the morning.”
“Good work, lad.” He nodded. “And yer funds? That clan can front ye whatever the cost ye’ll need for better gear, do nae fret.”
“We’re good on money, Farnik,” Jaken stood and walked over to the Dwarf, “but it means a lot that you’re so willing to help us.”
“He’s clan!” Farnik shouted. “All of ye! What good be the clan if we can’t get our cousin out of the Hells?”
“Here here!” Muu stood and shouted.
“I like him, ugly shite that he is.” Farnik smiled despite the gravity of the situation.
“I have that effect on people.” Muu preened.
“What be ye lad?” Farnik asked.
“I’m a Dragon Beast-kin,” Muu said but continued when Farnik shook his head. “My class is Fighter.”
“Have ye an interest in the axe?!” the Mugfist leader asked excitedly.
“That’s more Zeke’s territory,” Muu advised. “I’m more a spear and shield guy myself. Though I do have ideas about a lance.”
“Bah,” Farnik swatted the words away. “Anyone who’s anyone knows that the axe is what kills, but ye know what ye need. We can help train ye to fight if ye like?”
“Yeah, I’d like that. Thanks, Farnik.” Muu smiled.
“Aye, lad.” The Dwarf smiled menacingly. “We’ll train ye up right proper.”
“Oh no,” Muu whimpered. “What did I do?”
Chapter Ten
After a
couple hours, the food had been prepared, mead brought to the hall, and Dwarves filled benches with us at the front of the hall with Farnik and his kids. Before the feast began properly, Farnik stood and motioned for us to join him.
“Brothers and sisters of the clan,” he bellowed. “For too long, we have suffered from the loss of our general, my beloved. Too long have our heads hung low out of hurt and sorrow. Let us raise our mugs to our lost, drink, and sing of their glories.”
We all raised our mugs and shouted, “Mugfist!” before drinking.
Farnik addressed the clan once more, “Brothers and sisters of the clan, I have learned this day tha’ our cousin, Balmur, has been banished to the Hells by a fallen foe.”. There was a cry of outrage and for war. “Aye! And we shall have it!” Farnik pointed at us. “They seek power, better items, and in the coming time, Dragons so that they might take the fight to the Hells and WIN. HIM. BACK!”
The Dwarves in the hall shouted and roared so loudly I thought I would go deaf. There wasn’t a single member seated.
“We, Clan Mugfist, warriors, fighters, soldiers, and devout as stone, will assist this group as well as we can,” Farnik shouted. “Be there any among ye who wishes to withhold his support or deem it a waste o’ the clan’s power—let them speak their piece now.”
One Dwarf, his beard neatly kept with streaks of gray and white, stood with his axe in hand, and he stared at Farnik hard. “Ye ask ol’ Liltorq what he thinks? I thinks we should be with these boys when they invade the Hells. I thinks we should go NOW!”
The Dwarves around him stood and chorused his sentiment with robust yeahs and ayes.
“Ye know we can nae leave the city unprotected,” Brawnwynn reasoned. “I trust Jaken, Zeke, and all the others to see to it that Balmur comes back. And we will give them the aid they need.”
“Aye, well said, Brawny.” Farnik patted his son’s shoulder. “The Dragon Beast-kin, Muu, is a Fighter who fancies the spear and shield.” A bout of laughter and good-natured teasing erupted in the hall. “That’s what I said, but he seems adamant. We will see to it he’s as hard to kill as the others before his time here is up. On the morrow, Granda and the witch will come to see about their gear and arms. And we will see the arms holding those arms are stronger still. Are ye with me?!”
“AYE!” the clan roared.
“Tonight, we mourn and grieve—celebrate our fallen in true holding with the Way,” Farnik hefted his mug once more, “and tomorrow, we prepare our folk for war! Let the feasting begin!”
Dwarves of all ages and ranks tucked into the food before them, eating boisterously, bellowing insults back and forth, while a small band of clansmen struck up a lively tune in the back corner of the hall.
After the food was demolished, barrel upon barrel of mead, beer, and ale were carted into the room and tapped for consumption in an almost-double-fisted fashion.
We watched as the Dwarves began to pound their mugs and sing a song to their maker. A song about their fallen comrade and general.
One Dwarf, a stout and chiseled figure with tan skin, no shirt on, and chest hair about as thick as his beard stood on a long table and shouted a tune.
“The Drow, they thought her line was weak, to enslave us all they did seek.
The odds looked rough, but she was tough, and her line held them all.
Her plate of mithral covered in gore, her axes takin’ sev’ral more.
They piled on and fell the same, and all Dwarves will know her name—”
As chills crept over my flesh I watched as more than two hundred mugs, frothing alcohol swung into the air in a toast, and every voice shouted, “GERTY THE MUGFIST MAIDEN!”
“She swept them off and went for broke, fell enemy did start to choke.
Until that bitch of a witch had come to claim our Geeeeerty.”
The tune of the song fell somber, and the Dwarf picked up the tune again with tears in his eyes and his chin held high.
“The darkness came and claimed her life, her final act created strife, for the enemy knew naught of thee,”
Every eye in the room turned and watched as Farnik stood with his head held high and thrust his own mug into the air.
The music began to grow at a steady pace as the muscular, shirtless Dwarf began to chant again.
“He lost his eye in the fray, to take the lives of all in the way and get to his Gerty.
He took his axe, chopped and slashed, and down a drider crashed.
Another fell and another still, his lust for blood never to fill—until he took the priestess by her neck and shook’r violent to her death.
Their leader gone, the lines did fall, and in the hole, they crawled—the winner of the day—”
The Dwarves drank deep of their mugs, some wept even as they drank, and only a somber, single voice rang out, “Farnik the bold. Farnik the final. Farnik the savior without his Gerty.”
Farnik’s daughter, Roslyn, her cheeks mottled red and her eyes moist sniffled, then raised her voice.
“Her strength be missed, since last she kissed this cheek of mine,” she motioned toward her brother, “And thine. Her time was short as we all might know, but ne’er did she fail to show her love in all the clan to grow. And should ye fret about her loss, go to the yard with axe to toss—our loss, our grief be free and gone. All for the memory of Gerty.”
Farnik took a drought from his own mug as the final word left the singer’s lips. Another Dwarf stepped over and poured more alcohol into his leader’s mug.
“To Gerty,” Farnik said simply.
The whole of the clan lifted their mugs solemnly, drank after Farnik and kept drinking until there was nothing left to drink.
A bleary-eyed Farnik looked over to us, refilled his mug and beckoned for every mug to be filled. Once everyone was topped off, he turned to us.
“I offer this next toast in oath to you all and to the clan for Balmur.” He turned to the clan. “I swear, here and now with all of ye as witness—Clan Mugfist will do all in its power to assist in Balmur’s rescue. We will stop at nothing until he is safe with us. And Gods have mercy for any poor bastard who gets in our way!”
The clan roared and thrust their mugs into the air.
I wiped a tear from my eye; the clan’s song about their former general and beloved Gerry had sent chills through my body but had touched my soul. Fuck, I hoped someone sang songs about me like that someday.
Muu was smiling and dancing with some tiny Dwarven lady off in a corner with clan members banging a beat for them to step to. He was surprisingly nimble.
Jaken and Bokaj sat speaking quietly to one another, and Yohsuke was looking over the food.
James was knee-deep in Dwarves who wanted to wrestle and even though he had a few drinks in him the same as I, he looked better prepared than I was.
After so many toasts, obligatory drinking and booze with the food—my vision blurred too far, and the darkness at the edge of my vision stepped forward into victory as slumber took me.
I woke up at some point with a terrible headache, cottonmouth, and a mug of water next to my face. A wool blanket rested over my shoulders, and a small pillow was under my face.
I sat up and smacked my lips a little too loudly for my taste as the sound caused my head to throb a little more. I drank the water as quickly as I could while surveying my surroundings.
The majority of the Dwarves were gone. A few rested on the benches of the tables, and the chanter from the previous night was passed out on the table where he had been.
My friends had left me where I fell it seemed, since they were gone. I stood and stretched slowly. I snuck out of the room as quietly as possible, wishing I had some of the root the Willem had given me after the party at his tavern. Christ.
I walked down the hallway slowly, stepping over the prone and passed-out form of several Dwarves.
Gotta hand it to these guys, man. They know how to fucking drink, I thought to myself. There was no telling what time it was, but I made my way to
the reception room and stood by there. I fell back to sleep after a bit on one of the comfortable couches and used the blanket still over my shoulders to cover myself.
“Zeke.” Hands shook my shoulder. I growled low, then turned over. More hands. “Zeeeeke.”
“Step aside,” I heard a somewhat familiar voice. “WAKE UP, YOU USELESS FOX!”
I’m not proud of it, but I swung at her full force and received a soul-crushing cackle and thin air for my efforts.
Shellica, thin for a Dwarf with gray, plaited hair and bright green eyes stood in a dark colored robe, staring at me. She flashed me a mischievous grin. “Welcome back, lazy ass.”
“Gods, how I wish a rock had crushed you,” I groaned, only seventy percent serious.
Despite the fact that Shellica and I acted like we despised each other—she had taught me a lot. She was like the mean ol’ grandma you liked because she was shady as fuck and taught you the cool shit. Though there were times you wished she would just shut the hell up and make cookies.
“The fuck do you want?” I yawned. She stuck a finger into my open mouth, and I bit down as hard as I could only to miss. “Leave me be, shitty granny.”
“No,” she replied with a sweet grin. “You are going to be coming with me for more training while the others wait on their orders.” She thumped my leg. “You may even see what it’s like to be a real enchanter. By the way, the fuck had its way with your fur, boy? They left a real mess!”
I blinked twice and looked to my friends who stood aghast behind her.
“She just make a splooge joke about my fur?” I asked them.
Yohsuke nodded, and Muu grinned before replying, “I think so. I like her.”
“Don’t get used to her. She’s going to die.” I stood up and cracked my neck menacingly.
I summoned Storm Caller, then acted like I was about to take a swing at her and all she did was cackle.
“She’s not afraid of Zeke?” Muu leaned over to Jaken and asked.
“I fear no one, little Dragon,” Shellica shot over her shoulder.
She turned to face him fully. “Show me the items you wear and tell me what you are thinking about enchantment-wise. We will see what can be done for you.”
Into the Dragon's Den (Axe Druid Book 2) Page 27