The proprietor laughed and shook his head. "Now, tell me what brought you to our fine establishment."
"I need a battle-ax made for the Clan—the finest work that can be delivered by the name of AnvilForge. Something legendary, you understand."
"Aye." Throk motioned for them to enter his office away from those working. "You must know that this is no small feat. Importing the metal directly from the mountains will require some time and no small amount of coin on your part."
"I understand." Skharr took a heavy purse from his belt and made no effort to count the coins inside before he placed it on the desk between them, quickly followed by the small chest he had brought with him. "Some three hundred and fifty gold coins."
He could almost see the avarice appear in the dwarf's eyes as he opened both the purse and the chest. The treasure within would have given him at least a year—probably two—of luxurious living in Verenvan.
"A generous start but far from what would be required," he stated finally once he’d made a hasty estimate of the coins.
"I know. This is merely to secure the materials and equipment required, as I understand you lack the tools for a finely forged AnvilForge ax of legend. Once you begin work, more coin will come. More still will be provided once the ax is finished."
Throk nodded and folded his arms in front of his stout chest. "Aye. This is agreeable. How would we know that you can provide the rest?"
"I have paid for the materials and even if I cannot pay the rest, you have what is needed for something remarkable on my coin. Once you begin work, more will ensure that you will have a legendary weapon to sell if I do not pay the final price. It seems, rather, that my trust in you is what will be tested."
The dwarf smirked. "Your knowledge of our work is appreciated. And it has been many years since I have had the opportunity to put my back into something that requires consummate skill. In the meantime…a gift, I think. From us, to secure your trust."
He looked around the office and cursed a few times in his native tongue before he located a heavy item sheathed in leather. He opened the flap and drew out two axes. Both were smaller and easy to wield with one hand, but their appearance was different and more stream-lined than the weapons Skharr had used previously.
"Good for cleaving heads, ʼtis true." Throk held both weapons out for display and the barbarian took one. "But you will find that they fly as true as any of your arrows and deliver as much force on arrival."
When he hefted it in his hand, he immediately noted its perfect balance. He wouldn't be able to test it in the office, of course, but the weight of it as well as how thin the steel of the blade was showed that expert craftsmanship had gone into making it.
"My trust is earned," he muttered and sheathed them again. "And rest assured that both will likely see a great deal of use."
"I had hoped so. They have languished here since the man who ordered them died before he could collect, and… Well, the concept that weapons wish to battle as much as their owners might seem unfamiliar to some, but…" He shrugged.
"Not to me," Skharr replied and held both weapons against his chest in their leather sheath. "And there will be no shortage of work for them to do."
Chapter Four
The new axes hadn't been expected but he was thankful to have them anyway.
His people had no lack of trust in the dwarves and he knew their work would be prompt and worth the king's ransom that was demanded. Their legendary smithing was mostly ignored by humans, and Skharr couldn't think why. Although humans had decent smiths of their own, they failed to reach the elevated standards he had grown used to.
Or aspired to, at least. It wasn't often that he could afford their kind of work, and while he had spent a good portion of what he'd collected from the dungeon he’d cleared, he knew it would be worth every copper, silver, or gold piece spent.
As the sun continued to climb, the heat made the whole city slower and more sluggish. Midday was approaching, when most of the folk would turn their attention to food and rest until the worst of it passed but for the moment, the slow pace made the streets harder to travel through.
Still, he cared less about what the other folk were doing with their lives. He still had a goodly amount of coin at his disposal, even with what had been promised to the dwarves. That meant he didn’t need to work, and he considered taking time out of his day to enjoy lunch in cool shade, perhaps closer to the villas where the heat wouldn't be quite so irksome.
Whether he decided to linger or not, he needed to return to the Mermaid eventually. All his possessions were still there and Horse would sulk if he didn't stop in with a few treats to cheer him up.
The animal was getting old, and it would soon be time to see him to finer pastures. Some farms would take older horses in—not for work but to care for them in their last years—and it seemed only right to let him retire there once his time in the battlefields came to an end.
Still, while it was something that demanded thought, that decision would hopefully only have to be made in a few years.
"Master Skharr!"
A small, shrill voice drew him from his reverie and he looked around him quickly to identify who had called him. It sounded like a child, although he knew of no children who would know his name.
"Over here, sir!"
Skharr turned to where a slim youth sprinted after him on the street, slipped smoothly between a handful of men arguing around an ox, and finally reached the massive barbarian.
"Erron, that was your name, yes?" he asked and shifted the weight of the axes over his shoulder.
"Aye, that's my name." The youth grinned and revealed that one of his teeth was missing, although there was no way to tell if it was because he was at that age or if it had been knocked out prematurely. "I was sent to find you, sir. Guildmaster Pennar asked me to seek you out. I went to the inn first and the keeper there said that you had beaten two men senseless and left to parts unknown. Been searching all over the city for you, sir."
"Most would have simply remained at the inn until I returned," he pointed out and gestured for the boy to follow him.
Erron needed to jog to keep up with the larger man. "Well then, not many would have found you, but your tracks were rather easy to follow. Most folk remember seeing you walking by, and I was able to follow at least part of the way to the non-human sectors. I thought you might seek to replace your bow with the work of some elves. Is that what's on your back then? A bow?"
"No." Skharr scowled. He wasn't particularly happy about being so easily tracked through the city. "I'll make the bow myself when I can."
"What's that you have on your back then?"
"The blood of thirteen virgin whores."
"How's they whores if they's virgins?"
"Impossibly rare and hard to find as well. What did you need to find me for, boy?"
"Oh, right! The guildmaster sent me. Did I not tell you that already?"
"Yes, but not why Pennar wanted you to find me."
"Well, he didn't mention it to me either, sir, but if I had to put coin on finding a reason, I would say it had something to do with the fancy miss who visited the Guild Hall not long before he sent me after you."