Into the Dragon's Den (Axe Druid Book 2)

by Christopher Johns

  Muu obeyed. He summoned his spear and laid it on the table. Then his boots, bracelet, and rings. Finally, he put his armor on the table. Shellica started with the boots.

  “These are interesting and well done.” She put them down. “Why do you wish to be able to jump farther and higher?”

  Muu responded with, “It’s part of my fighting style. If I want to fight an enemy, I want to get to them quickly. And if I do it with a spear, I need to be able to stab and pierce quickly. Plus, attacking from above would be cool.”

  “Clever.” She nodded. “I will make an improvement. Zekiel? Attend me.” She motioned toward the items before her. “The boots were a good touch. The metal you used to attach the enchantment was well done, and they were attached well. Good work. Your engraving was slightly shallow on one side. It could have been stronger. The rings were good. I am impressed. If you had better materials to work with, the enchantments would have been much better.”

  She pointed to the ring of Regrowth. “This was a true work of art, I am highly excited to see you thinking outside the box as it were.”

  “Thank you,” I said wearily.

  “Now, this armor,” she touched it, “show me the engraving.” I pointed to where the symbols I had engraved were. “Very clever to hide them. You could have done more than just make them lighter, though. See the leather that the armor is on? You could have enchanted that to make everything attached to it lighter, then enchanted the plate itself to be stronger, therefore increasing the defense.”

  “Ah, I didn’t think about that.”

  “Obviously.” Shellica grinned. “That’s why you still need me.”

  “Rot in hell, old hag.” I sighed.

  “I will join the Mountain when I die, thank you,” she cooed. “Now, the shield. Why is it not enchanted? Did you grow lazy?”

  “Actually, no.” I motioned Muu toward the weapon. “Once he squeezes the lever there,” Muu demonstrated the way the blade popped out, “the blade thrusts out and stays in that position until put back. With there being that kind of mechanism, I wasn’t certain how to go about enchanting it. If I enchanted one portion—say the shield—to negate the impact taken by weapons on the user, would that harm the mechanism inside and make the weapon thrusting out not work right?” I then pointed to the blade. “And vice versa, if I were to enchant the blade itself to increase piercing damage, would that make it easier to pierce the shield? With so many different scenarios and ‘what-ifs’, I didn’t feel it safe for me to enchant it without ruining it.”

  Shellica’s eyebrows raised slightly in surprise and appreciation. “There’s hope for you yet, lad.” She patted my arm, and I felt my cheeks burn a little in pride.

  “For a complicated device like this, I would enchant the two individually—the blade before it was attached and the shield before the blade was inserted.” She motioned to the blade. “If the weapon portion was enchanted beforehand and given a special treatment—which I will proudly show you—the two enchantments would not negate or harm each other. Tell me, what level is your enchanting as of now?”

  “Level 29, ma’am,” I answered.

  “Excellent.” She clapped. “Almost to craftsman. Good—at that level, you can begin adding other materials to augment and improve your enchantments.”

  “Ooooooh!” I whispered in wonder.

  “Indeed.” She smiled. “Young Muu, you will compile a list of enchantments you would like on your armor. I will prepare for what I can, and I will perform the enchantments myself. All of you, think about it and if you would like one more item apiece, make a list.”

  The others began to discuss, and Shellica interrupted, “One each. And it will cost you—albeit at a discount due to past transgressions.”

  She rounded on me. “Do not think I do not see how bereft of enchanted gear they are—you have fallen dangerously close to neglect, lad.” I opened my mouth and closed it. She was right. “Ah, the beginnings of wisdom set in. Leave a Fighter with poorly enchanted gear? Feh!”

  “Thank you,” Muu said with a smile as she smacked me again.

  “Another one with manners.” Shellica grinned. “Tell me, lad. Have you any interest in enchanting?”

  Muu shook his head. “I don’t have the mana for it. Though, picking up a craft would be nice.”

  “What are your highest stats?” she asked curiously. “And what of the rest of you? What do you all do as a craft?”

  “Constitution, strength, and dexterity,” he answered simply.

  “Cook,” Yohsuke said proudly.

  “Smith, and Balmur worked with accessories like y’all,” Jaken said.

  Bokaj raised a hand. “Woodworking or carpentry.”

  “I don’t have anything yet, but I don’t use mana,” James said. “I don’t really want to craft if I’m being honest. Not my style.”

  “A young one who knows his mind?” Shellica stood in front of James a moment. He didn’t budge. “I like you too.”

  She looked back at Muu. “If you are amenable to it, I could put you into contact with a tanner who will happily take you on and show you the basics. She owes me a favor.”

  “So, I would be making leather?” Muu asked uncertainly.

  “You would—if my memory serves—learn proper ways to skin animals, treat the pelts for various things, and maybe even make your own clothing.” She thought a moment. “At the very least, you would be able to provide leather strips for Jaken’s weapons and other simple gear if you don’t take to crafting simple armor. Not everyone has that level of skill.”

  “That sounds pretty cool!” Muu agreed. “Thank you, I really appreciate that.”

  “Oh, I really do like you, lad.” Shellica cackled. “Zekiel. Attend me. We go to my workshop for training.”

  I groaned audibly, and she cackled again as we left my throbbing skull aching more deeply than before. Farnik looked like he had seen a ghost as we walked by him. He nodded in respect to me, and he mouthed the words, Be strong.

  I had a feeling I would need that strength if my last dealings with her were anything to go by.

  We wound our way through the crowds, more than one Dwarf seeing Shellica and taking care not to cross her path. The Light Hand Clan leader took it in stride, her steps never faltering once.

  As we walked through the crafting section of the city, a simple affair with stalls outside shops run by apprentices showing off their masters’ skills. We stopped at one stall, a small Dwarven child who looked to be the human equivalent of an eleven-year-old with round checks and not a whisker yet to be seen took one look at the Dwarf with me and bolted into the back, shouting in Dwarven.

  Though she was smiling, I could see something else.

  “It hurts you,” I began thickly. “The way the others run from you.”

  “If only you paid this much attention to your crafting,” Shellica responded sourly. “They fear magic—don’t understand it—because it is a thing worthy of their fear.”

  “But it was a gift from your God,” I reasoned, my still-booze-addled mind refusing to heed social etiquette. “Shouldn’t that be something worthy of their respect? And admiration?”

  She looked at me then—really looked—and for once, there was no mania. There was a depth of understanding and hurt that I could never imagine peeking out from my own eyes as she told me, “What use have we, the chosen of our creator, for respect and admiration that only He deserves? We create, we bless, we enchant. But we do so in order that His work can continue to live on in the works of our people. People fear what they do not know—this is especially true of my kin as they are a thick-headed people—and magic is something that most clans have lost touch with over the ages. We are the last here in Djurn Forge to hold to his teachings in magery. We are not the folk to run to our pa when people treat us mean. We do not blame Fainne for the others, for He has blessed us more than we could ever hope to have imagined. Leave us to bare the weight, lad. We do so gladly.”

  The depth of her sadness
and her faith in her people and Fainne were beyond touching. I reached out and touched her shoulder lightly. “Later.”

  I knew there was more to this, and it just wasn’t in me to leave it alone when I saw someone suffering. I wanted—needed—to help. To show I could be there for her somehow. I might still be burping up booze fumes from the night before, but I’d be damned if I wasn’t going to try my best to help her deal.

  She seemed to understand what I meant, and I let my hand fall away. As my hand fell, a thickly muscled Dwarven woman stepped out from the shop behind the stall we stood in front of. Her brown hair was shorn close to her scalp on the sides, and the top was braided long, wrapped tightly around the top of her head.

  “Shellica, why’d ye scare me boy?” she asked in a deep voice. “Yer gob be bad, but nae tha’ bad I don’ think.”

  “It’s only as bad as yours is manly. You’re big as an ogre, you lumpy shite with legs.” Shellica crossed her arms and grinned at the other woman. “Hello, Natholdi. Been a while, old friend.”

  The two of them rushed forward and hugged one another for a long moment.

  Natholdi spoke first as she pushed my trainer out to arm’s length, “Ye ne’er come ‘round fer tea, Shelly—Hells look’it ye!—skin. And. Bone.” She emphasized each word with a prod at Shellica’s physique. “Ye bet’er come ‘round and have a proper meal ta fatten ye up right! Look’it me boy, thick like his ma, he is.”

  “He’s a handsome one too.” Shellica smiled. “Chubby cheeks and all. Has himself a good ma.”

  “Aye.” She nodded, then her sight fell on me. “Ye were always one fer strange comp’ny Shelly, lass, but a sylph?” She sniffed and observed me. “One tha’ smells like he could nae hold a mug if we gives one, ta boot?”

  The thought of alcohol made me have to choke back a dry heave.

  “Careful, Natholdi,” Shellica scolded. “He’s recognized and claimed by Mugfist. Farnik himself greets him like a son. He and a Fae-Orc along with several other odd ones. They’re good folk with a good mission.” She looked around to be sure no one was close enough to hear then whispered. “The Mountain Himself has seen fit to bless this one with my same gift.”

  Natholdi’s sucked air through her teeth. “Aye?” She looked me over once more. “Be tha’ why yer here? If’n he has yer blessin’ true, ye donae need me ta teach him—wha’ can I do fer ye?”

  “I’m here about that favor,” Shellica said simply. “He has a friend—a Dragon Beast-kin named Muu—with Clan Mugfist. Good head on his shoulders, Fighter type. You would like him. In the mornings, when you’re busiest, he will be training to fight with the clan. In the afternoon’s though, I want you to teach him the basics of your trade. Skinning, tanning—the works. Quick as you can, but the right way.”

  “How long?” Natholdi grinned.

  “Four to five days,” I said. “He’s got weapons and armor being made by Granda. Then the enchantment time—which won’t be long with Shellica.”

  “Oh,” the thicker Dwarf sounded disappointed. “I though’ ye were gonna gimme a challenge. I’ll train him up, donae worry, Shelly. I will nae le’ ye down.”

  She placed her thick thumb and index finger in her lips, and a shrill whistle ripped through my ears. “Gah!” I held my hands over my ears and looked at her angrily.

  She smiled back, and her son came careening out of the shop. He hid behind his mother’s legs.

  “Get ye out here, boy.” The boy’s ma hefted him by his brown shirt and lifted him around so he stood facing her. He kept stealing not-so-subtle glances at Shellica. “Oi, look’it me boy.”

  His attention snapped to his mother, and he squirmed at the intense look she gave him.

  “Ye be disrespectin’ a dear friend o’ yer ma’s, boy,” Natholdi scolded. “Yer nae tha’ type o’ lad, righ’?” He shook his head hard enough I thought he’d be dizzy. “Good lad. Get ye to the Mugfist compound and ask fer a Dragon Beast-kin called ‘Muu.’ Tell the clan he’s ta follow ye ta me, so’s I can train him proper.”

  He nodded quickly. She shook her head and put a hand on her hip before asking, “What’d I say ta do?”

  The boy frowned in concentration and then spoke, his little Dwarven voice light and child-like in tone, “Ye said ta go and fetch a dragon called Moo, and bring him ta the clan. Ouch!” His ma had flicked him in the forehead. “Ta ye! He’s ta follow me ta ye, and ye’d train’m up proper.”

  “Which clan did I say?” she asked with a slight growl.

  “Mugfist!” He held his fists up in front of him like an old-timey boxer. “They’s the ones what fight fer us!”

  “Get ye gone, and be light-footed ‘bout it too, or I’ll box yer ears boy!” She swiped at him, but he ducked under her meaty hands and took off without so much as a glance behind him.

  “What a good lad you’ve got there,” Shellica said wistfully, a small, sad smile on her face.

  “Aye, he’s clever ta boot.” Natholdi smiled back. “Has a memory on ‘im donae doubt. Boy can skin a buck as large hisself quicker’n a drunken Dwarven Fighter can finish his fourth mead too. He’ll be bet’er than his ma some day.”

  “Aye. Thank you old friend.” Shellica hugged her friend fiercely.

  “Bah.” Natholdi swatted at her playfully. “We’re even, Shelly. Now, ye be comin’ ‘round fer tea and a proper meal, or I’ll come ta ye. And nae a single door be stoppin’ me, lass.”

  “I swear it, I will.” Shellica smiled at Natholdi, and we were off again.

  After we were a good couple dozen feet away, I had to ask, “What kind of favor did she owe you?”

  “That is not a proper question to ask anyone, lad,” Shellica replied gruffly, “but if you must know—I saved her life once when we were younger. I would never have collected on it, especially since she is my friend—but if it will make her stop bringing it up—so be it. I can have a proper time with her now.”

  After another ten minutes of silent walking, we were in her clan’s home. It was a compound similar to the Mugfist Clan’s in size and structure layout, but the buildings were made of metal the likes of which I hadn’t seen anywhere else.

  We entered the gates with a wave of her hand that set them to opening. We walked unimpeded into the central building, and I watched as Dwarves worked with their tools with freshly heated precious metals. Etching devices, chisels, and other sophisticated tools carved symbols and engravings into gems and completed trinkets. No one seemed to really care that the head of their clan had come through leading a Kitsune like myself.

  We stepped into a cell that I was intimately familiar with. The walls and décor were spartan. There was a furnace, enchanted to never grow cool and be at a constant perfect temperature. The bed was austere with simple linens, and the workbench was tidy with a few items placed at the rear.

  I waited until the door was shut completely before I stepped over to Shellica and gave her a hug. She was so shocked by it that she didn’t move for a moment. I felt her arms wrap loosely around my waist for a moment before they dropped.

  “What was that for?” She asked curiously.

  “For not being as much of the crazy, hard-headed witch that everyone makes you out to be,” I explained. “It has to be easier for you to be scorned by everyone if they do so for a reason, right?”

  “That’s a brave thing to say to the woman who has your ass for the next few days, lad.” She smiled, her green eyes sparkling in amusement. “Don’t think that will earn you any leniency.”

  “I know it won’t.” I grinned back, all of my canines flashing. “I expect nothing less from the devil herself.”

  Shellica began to cackle, chilling me to the bone. I hadn’t heard this depth of mania before. Her head was thrown back, and I saw her teeth shining in the fair light of the room.

  “Is it too late to run?” I asked skeptically partially teasing but mostly actually scared.

  “Aye,” Shellica growled and advanced on me, pulling accessories out of her pocket. “Mu
ch too late.”

  “NO!” I shrieked.

  Those of you who remember her way of teaching involves a lot of me making things, quality stuff, and her tossing it into a furnace.

  Fucking hell. Not this again!

  Chapter Eleven

  The first thing she did was have me create items of greater strength until I was dizzy with it. This took the majority of the first day, and each item I made was somehow flawed enough that the evil bitch threw them into her furnace.

  “Tell me, the spear that I saw this Muu with,” she said as she tossed another small ring into the fire and a part of my resistance to violence with it, “you enchanted that, correct?”

  “Yes,” I growled. I stared into the furnace and watched the metal accessory melt.

  “Where did you get such a sophisticated idea?” she inquired. “You should not have been able to do this at your level, at least not that enchantment specifically.”

  “I don’t know,” I replied honestly with a sigh. “I had been thinking about what you did to my axe. About the weapon returning to the owner faster than a comet. I think with my newly obtained racial changes, I was able to give the idea more juice than even I was aware of. I didn’t even set a distance limit with it—I was just consumed by the stars and let my mana go until I felt it was right. It took everything I had.”

  She scowled in thought. “I see. That bottoming out your mana reserves would lend to it, I think as well. It is a damned good enchantment. One to be proud of, lad.”

  “Thank you.” My chest had puffed out a little, that was for sure.

  “But everything else is shite,” she howled at me. “Here! Make something of this. Make it do something with fire!”

  She tossed me a set of what looked like brass knuckles, but they had four sharp spikes half an inch long protruding from the knuckles. The base the spikes were on was wide and swept back over the fist and back of the hand close to the wrist where it ended. The grip was grooved to allow the fingers to sit in it comfortably.