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

by Christopher Johns

  “Don’t mean she won’t flay ye regardless, but ye did the right thing.” Farnik grinned wolfishly, and I began muttering about him being an asshole. He took it in stride.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The whole next day, I spent helping the rest of my clan prepare barrels of mead, ale, and beer to be taken to the Light Hand Compound. Between wagons, I prepared the items that I had bought as presents.

  The two daggers I enchanted to stay sharp, pierce armor better, and to be more durable with a little bit of my diamond powder. The throwing knives I enchanted for accuracy without any components. Not too powerful, but they were for a kid, so that was okay.

  I placed them into a box that Farnik gave me, then dressed in my padded armor that I had gotten from Maebe, and prepared to go to the party. Another tradition was for Dwarves to attend name day celebrations in their armor, bearing their clan crests proudly. This was to show the young Dwarf who had earned their name what they could aspire to be—the level of honor and respect they could attain through dedication to themselves, their respective crafts, and their Way.

  “Get ye goin’, lad,” Farnik shooed me off. “Ye go an’ be there fer Shellica an’ the boy. I will personally bring the offering to the party meself. If ye can make ‘em keep their stock out of the way, it’d be appreciated, but donae lead ‘em to what I be doin’. Aye?”

  “Okay, buddy.” I patted his shoulder and hooked my axe to a harness I now wore that had hooks on the back. The dyed-black leather had been oiled and smelled like pine. Storm Caller only shifted slightly as I walked toward the Light Hand Compound. Inside, I saw lanterns shining brightly with golden light hung from hooks along the fencing, then silvered lights from the lanterns on hooks inside the compound scattered here and there.

  There were Light Hand Dwarves all over, stringing light and streamers—prepping the grounds for the evening’s festivities.

  “Ho there!” I called to one of them. She turned and nodded to me. “Do you know where I can find Shellica?”

  “She’ll be ‘round back sortin’ the tables and benches round” She pointed toward the same area I had let my familiars out before.

  “Thanks!” I called as I bustled off, dodging Dwarves and counted at least thirty barrels of something stacked neatly beside the tables with mounds of food on them.

  “What’re you doing standing there like a lump?” Shellica called to me from a large stage with another table on it.

  She wore a suit of armor with white metal scales down it. The chest piece was six pieces of the same material that had been weaved together—almost as if sewn—by silver threads of metal. Two plates sat against the top of her chest, two more beneath near her ribs, and the other two beneath her arms going around her back. The scales beneath were small and moved as she did. She wore a leather and metal plate skirt of matching material and carried a staff with her like a walking stick.

  She clapped her hands and growled. “Get up here and help me!”

  I jogged over and up a small set of stairs to stand beside her. “What’s up?”

  “Me, and I don’t like it,” she harrumphed. “Look at the tables and see that they are aligned.

  I did as I was asked. There were six rows of tables arranged in a huge crescent shape that fanned out centered on the stage with the shortest row in the front and the longest in the rear.

  “Looks good to me,” I informed her. “Do we really need so much alcohol?”

  “Do you really doubt our guests will not go through all of that and more?” Shellica raised a brow sarcastically.

  I laughed to myself and nodded. “That’s fair.”

  “I know.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “I think we have done what we can. The guests will be here in an hour or so. Let the others do their jobs with all of this. Come, let us go over some more of the knowledge you have as an enchanter.”

  We spent that hour going back over some of the things I had been learning. Shellica had me adding several different components to items I was working with. Never at once, but as I worked, I became more and more adjusted to the prospect of this kind of exchange working well. Though, one thing bothered me.

  “If there are so many kinds of components that I can add, why not some of my blood?” I asked between two items.

  “Adding blood to an item through enchanting is a much more advanced skill as an enchanter,” Shellica spoke gravely, “but using blood with any kind of magic runs dangerously close of turning the user—no matter how experienced or strong—toward the path of necromancy. Toward the eldritch magics. Vile and detestable they are.”

  She spat on the ground three times then crushed the third globule of spit under her heel.

  “That’s some powerful hate for that kind of power,” I observed cautiously.

  “Is nae power, lad.” Shellica wagged her finger, and her normally cultured speech slipped. “It be poison.”

  “That’s true.” Vilmas poked her head into the room. “Forgive me, my lady, but I couldn’t help overhearing. The eldritch magics offer ‘power and control’ but they never truly deliver. They constantly encourage the Mage who partakes to do more and more vile things in search of power.”

  Shellica pointed and nodded at the other Dwarf. “That’s correct. What can I do for you, lass?”

  “The guests have arrived, my lady.” She bowed her head and disappeared from sight.

  “Come along, lad, you’re a guest of honor.” Shellica waved for me to follow her as she began to get up.

  “Because of the oath?” That was a little ludicrous, right?

  “A Dwarf’s first oath is very important in our society,” Shellica explained as we made our way into the hall. She closed her door and tapped it three times—the lock shot into place—and we continued on. “Even if the oath be something so simple as your own was—it is Dwarven Way to honor them.”

  “I can respect that.” I shrugged. “Far be it from me to begrudge a Dwarf’s Way.”

  Shellica snorted, and we were outside a second later. There were Dwarves everywhere. No different from any other day, but they were all in shining suits of armor, plate mail, chain mail, and all of these gleaming weapons dazzlingly reflecting the silver and gold light around us.

  We made our way to the table on stage slowly. Many in the clan wished to talk to Shellica, and there were representatives from the different clans and Dwarven council that I hadn’t known existed.

  Once we took our places at the table on stage—mine was next to Shellica but toward the outside of the table—the crowd quieted and waited for Shellica to speak.

  “Light Hand!” She held her hand aloft, and a shroud of light began to cover it. A majority of the Dwarves returned the gesture, and it left more than a few of the guests looking uncomfortable.

  “Long awaited is the day a young one has when they claim their title under the Mountain,” she addressed them. “Long awaited is the day they prove to all who matter who they are and what they stand for. I had the extreme honor of witnessing the proving of such a young one yesterday morn. Who swore his first oath to someone outside his kin.”

  The gathered crowd began to hoot and holler boisterously, pounding tables and clapping their gauntlet-covered fists against their armored chests. Shellica nodded with a smile until they quieted.

  “In that same morning I welcomed three more into my kin.” She motioned toward a shadowed area of the compound grounds off to our right. “Please, all of you welcome Granite, Natholdi, and their son—the newest members of the Light Hand Clan!”

  The three Dwarves walked forward proudly as the crowd roared their approval. For the second time in my life, I saw the Dwarves lift their legs and stomp in unison. Their thudding legs imitating the heartbeat of their god, Fainne, and his approval. I looked out into the crowd and saw fierce approval and glints of mirth and pride in the eyes of those gathered. The hairs on my body stood on end and shivered in a chill of nerves.

  Granite wore a simple set of trousers, his chest was bare but for the sc
ars and tattoos he had of Dwarven faces and runes. He wore a single shoulder pauldron of obsidian carved into wicked-looking, pointed mountains. Covering his fists were gloves that sported large spikes. Natholdi wore a set of leather armor dyed red with runes and capped with obsidian. She wore a set of battle axes on her hips, and their son wore a simple tunic and trousers with his skinning knife belted to his waist. They climbed the stairs and stood in front of the table opposite where their chairs were. The boy next to Shellica in the center, his father next to him, and Natholdi at the end. Shellica walked out from behind the table and motioned for me to follow with her hand hidden from sight.

  “All of you, be seated as we hear the name of this child and assist him in his first steps along the Way as an adult proper.”

  The crowd sat silently and watched raptly as Granite and Natholdi stepped forward.

  “I, Natholdi Light Hand, watched as me son embraced a simple life o’ masterin’ a trade, knowin’ tha t’is nae as glamorous as smithin’ but nae less important ta his people. I have judged him ready o’ his name.” Natholdi held her head high as she spoke. Despite her stoic and proud demeanor, tears dripped to the boards next to her feet. “As a show o’ support an’ dedication ta his commitment, I’ve honored him with a finely crafted skinning knife, that he may master hiself as he masters his craft.”

  Granite stepped forward, his bearing much the same as his wife’s.

  “I, Granite Light Hand, bare witness to the strength of my son’s character. I been proud to see him stand tall against others his age who would seek to shame him for his lack of clan an’ think they were his better. I been even more proud to see him wear his wounds with pride and defend others from the same treatment. I have judged him worthy of his name.” Granite reached behind his back and lifted an axe, double headed and made of black steel sized for a child larger than his son, into the air for all to see. “This axe is a show of potential. Given to my son so that he may defend himself along his Way and keep the tenants of the Mountain until he finds himself one with the stone once more.”

  Granite looked to his child, faced him, and knelt to one knee in front of him, still towering over the boy easily. He took his right hand and reached out to cup his son’s face with it lovingly. He dropped that hand and used it to lift the weapon up so that the boy could take it. Granite’s son lifted the axe with surprising ease and rested the head of it lightly on the ground before bowing his head slightly to his father. From this angle, I couldn’t see the boy’s face, but I saw Granite offer his son a small smile before he stood and took a step back.

  “Clan representatives and those among my own, I introduce my latest apprentice and claimed member of the Mugfist Clan—Zekiel Erebos.” There was a whisper through the crowd that stopped almost as soon as it began. “He is the bearer of the child’s first oath.” Shellica motioned me forward and nodded. “He will speak of the encounter.”

  Nervously, I stepped forward, then spoke. “I, Zekiel Erebos of Clan Mugfist, had the privilege of sharing an oath with the boy. The tenants of the oath were that he listen to his mother, as I found that she was a good person and she loved him dearly.” I glanced at Shellica, but she simply stared ahead. “And that the next time he saw the Light Hand Clan head, he thank her for what she and her clan do for the glory of the Mountain—despite his lack of understanding. True to his word to the Mountain and against his beard, I watched as he suppressed his fear and thanked Shellica Light Hand properly. As a reward for this oath, I have enchanted his skinning knife to the best of my abilities as a craftsman enchanter. I find that any name he is given will be appropriate in reflecting his courage and sense of duty to his word. I am honored to walk along the Way with him.”

  I hoped that my rambling had done something to honor the boy and his parents as I stepped back. I would kick Shellica’s ass for not telling me I had to speak in this. She probably knew I would’ve told her to buzz off if she had. Jerk. As I found my place, Shellica stepped forward.

  “I, Shellica Light Hand—along with the clan of my name—have brought this child into my family as blood and kin,” Shellica addressed the gathered crowd. “In a show of loyalty to kin and to the growth of my clan, I have given this boy a home. A home where he will be able to wear his name with pride. A home where he and those of his line will be safe. A home where he can grow and bring further honor and glory to the Mountain. But most importantly—I bring him the love of Fainne, the Mountain.”

  She knelt next to the boy, and all the Dwarves of her clan stood and began to raise their voices in song. As they sang wordlessly, the ground began to shake visibly. Rubble from the roof of the cavern where the city was built in the bones of the world fell and landed directly in front of the boy. A small glint of reflected light from within the rubble caught my attention, and the singing stopped abruptly.

  Shellica reached into the rubble and pulled out a large, round orb of stone larger than her hand. She offered it to the boy who took it with confusion and wonder plain on his face. Those gathered were shocked, and I had to admit I was too.

  “When you learn your name, set this on the ground and smack it with your axe,” Shellica instructed the boy quietly.

  She stood and looked to the crowd before addressing them, “Be there any among those present here this day who would deny the evidence given to this young Dwarf’s merit to walk among us along our path to the Mountain? Be there any among you who wish to right a wrong against this family?”

  The crowd was quiet for a moment, several Dwarves standing, representatives from other clans that Shellica had spoken about earlier in her introduction for me. They brought their gifts and cut braidings of beard hair to show their sorrow and recognition of a slight done against them. I heard a few mumble about not giving them enough in the wake of their loss. Another older Dwarf said that he regretted not offering them a home after what happened.

  Finally, after the other Dwarves had shuffled away, Shellica, stoic as she had been before, as if this portion were expected, raised her arms to address the crowd once more—or would have if it wasn’t for a commotion from the side of the building that had the barrels of mead.

  I watched as fifty Dwarves baring the Mugfist crest on their polished armor marched stoically into the courtyard followed by five carts that had barrels of mead. The marching Dwarves split into two ranks and divided themselves so that they framed the carts that stopped flush with the front row, but the most surprising thing about this procession was Muu, in slightly-spiked armor so dark it seemed to eat the light, standing next to Farnik. The Mugfist Clan head wore a humble tunic of white, a black belt, and knife with matching white trousers. He wore no boots and nothing on his feet. His beard was washed, clean, and without any adornments. It flowed almost to his waist with the braids and items in it normally, but now, it dragged almost on the floor. His fists were closed, and I could see he held something.

  Together, they approached the stage.

  “Farnik, this is highly irregular, lad.” Shellica stepped in front of the child and the rest of her new kin.

  “Aye,” Farnik agreed sadly. “Aye it is, but it be truth. I come to ye now as head of me clan to make right a vile wrong to yers and to ye. I come on behalf of me clan. I pray ye will hear me apologies.”

  Shellica nodded and stepped aside so that the others were able to see the Dwarf before them.

  “Granite, Natholdi, lad,” Farnik stepped forward and set several clippings and braids of his beard on to the pile of the others. “I wronged ye in ways I cannae begin to tell, but the most important being that I did nae offer home and love to the Dwarf an’ his kin what helped defend this city as I took me vengeance fer me wife’s murder. I will ne’er be able to make that right. I hope that ye will take these as a token of my penance and honesty in this.”

  Granite began to step forward but stopped at a hand from Farnik.

  “I appreciate ye, but me words ain’t done.” He looked to Shellica. “Shellica Light Hand, I fear I have wronged ye a
nd yer clan worst of all. We, this entire city and all our kind here, treat ye as outsiders. As wrong. We who are supposed to support all as they walk the Way. We who are tasked by the Mountain to defend his children. We have made yer lives harder. We have made it much harder to follow the Way, the gravest sin a Dwarf can commit against another.”

  He reached across his body with his right hand and drew the knife there. It was wickedly sharp and flashed once. Twice. Three times in the silver and gold light as Farnik took it and sliced into his beard. He cut it raggedly, sometimes sawing through the locks of it before he stood with the majority of his once glorious facial hair in his fist. Tears streamed down his slightly barren cheeks. Portions of longer hairs stuck out here and there. It looked as if a child had taken a pair of clippers to their hair out of curiosity and now this was the mess left.

  He held the shorn hair out to Shellica first, then turned to the crowd and shouted, “Be there no others among ye who see the wrongness of yer ways?! We scorned good, Mountain fearing folk doin’ what they could fer Fainne’s glory! We were wrong!”

  The twin ranks of Mugfist Dwarves had tears streaming down their faces into their own beards after bearing witness to their leader’s shame. One after another, they knelt where they stood with their heads low.

  Several other Dwarves joined Farnik. They borrowed his blade, put their forehead to his as they wept, and did the same themselves. They cut their beards to the quick as swiftly as they could and offered the result to Shellica. After the first five, others joined the procession, and finally, a strangled cry came from the stage next to me.

  Shellica, shaking with tears streaming down her face, had fallen to her knees. She screamed in agony at what she saw before us, and the Dwarves stopped what they were doing.

  “Shellica, are you okay?” I asked as I bent down beside her.

  She shoved me aside. “What’re ye lot doin’?!” she shouted hoarsely. “Me clan nae once told any of ye that we was hurtin’! We beared our honor and yer contempt stoic in humility ta the Mountain. We needed no pride. No support save fer his blessing. I’ll nae have ye shornin’ yer honor fer mine! Stop this!” She looked to the Dwarves of her clan who held each other for support at the sight of so many other important figures offering penance for a deep wrong. “If yer of me clan an’ ye forgive ‘em, shout ‘aye!’”