Chapter 18

As the sword cooled on the anvil, I leaned back on my stool and rubbed my forearms. The muscles burned from hours of hammering and shaping, and the skin under my gauntlets stung where Lisett had stitched me up. She'd done good work, as usual, though I wasn't about to admit it to her face. The ache in my ribs reminded me of what she'd said: Rest before you fall apart.

But rest didn't come easy. Not for me. My hands still itched for something to do, some piece of metal to shape or a tool to sharpen. Instead, I stayed seated, letting the dull throb of my wounds and the heat of the forge lull me into something close to stillness.

Lisett was off in the corner, fussing over her supplies. Her pack was open, bandages and vials laid out in neat rows. She worked methodically, the way a smith sets his tools in order before a long day at the anvil. I watched her for a moment, noting the way her fingers moved, the precision in every motion. She didn't waste a single movement. It reminded me of the old forge master back home, the way he'd plan every strike before his hammer ever touched the steel. Seeing her now, I realized she wasn't just a healer. She was a craftsman in her own way.

Karvek was sitting near the entrance, the sword I'd forged propped against his knee. He hadn't said much since I handed it over, but his eyes kept straying to the blade. I caught the faint gleam of admiration in his gaze—subtle, but it was there. He turned it over slowly, letting the firelight play across the steel. The weapon wasn't flashy, but it had a presence. You could feel it just looking at it. He tested the balance, holding it lightly in his hand, and nodded to himself.

"Not bad," he said finally.

"Better than that bent scrap you were carrying," I replied, though my voice lacked the usual edge. I was too tired to needle him, and he looked just as worn out as I felt.

He glanced up at me, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "I've seen masterwork swords that didn't feel half this good in the hand."

"High praise from a man who's clearly got no taste."

Karvek chuckled, shaking his head. He set the sword down carefully beside him, then leaned back against the cold stone wall. "You're an interesting one, Doran. I've heard plenty of stories about you, but none of them quite match the man in front of me."

"Most stories are shite," I said. "They get bigger and dumber every time someone tells 'em."

"Maybe. But there's truth in them, too. You've done things no one else could—or would. That much is clear." He paused, his gaze drifting toward the forge. "And you're still alive. That counts for a lot in my book."

I grunted, not quite sure how to respond. It wasn't often I heard something like that from anyone, much less a man who looked like he'd rather spit than offer a compliment. I busied myself with cleaning the tools, wiping down the hammer and setting the tongs back in their place. The routine helped settle my mind, kept me from dwelling on things I didn't have words for.

Lisett finally spoke up, her voice cutting through the quiet. "You're both idiots."

We both turned to look at her. She was wrapping a bandage around her own hand now, her expression set in a scowl. "Doran, you're half-dead, and instead of resting, you push yourself to make a sword for someone you just met. And Karvek—" she jabbed a finger in his direction "—you're sitting there admiring your shiny new toy when you should be eating, drinking, or sleeping. None of you have a lick of sense."

Karvek raised an eyebrow, looking amused. "And what about you? You've been working nonstop since we got here."

"I'm not the one who gets into the middle of every damn fight," she shot back. "You two act like you're made of iron. I'm the one who has to put you back together when you're proven wrong."

I chuckled despite myself. "Someone's got to do it."

She rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath. "I'm surrounded by lunatics."

Karvek and I exchanged a glance. For a moment, there was no rivalry, no suspicion—just a shared recognition that Lisett, for all her complaints, was the only reason either of us was still breathing. I nodded toward her. "She's not wrong. You should get some rest."

Karvek sighed, stretching out his legs. "I suppose you're right. But that sword—" he tapped the blade with a calloused finger "—makes me feel like I can keep going. Like maybe we'll make it through the next fight."

"You better," I said. "I didn't put that much work into it just so you could keel over in the first scrap."

He chuckled, shaking his head again. "Fair enough."

We settled into silence after that. Lisett continued her work, Karvek leaned back with his eyes half-closed, and I sat quietly at the forge, staring into the embers. The dragon's shadow loomed faintly at the edge of the chamber, watching, waiting. For what, I couldn't say. But for now, there was a rare moment of peace—just the sound of the fire, the clink of tools being set down, and the slow, steady rhythm of our breathing.

The fire in the forge crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. The air was thick with the smell of iron and smoke, a scent that clung to my skin, my clothes, and even the wounds Lisett had patched up. Karvek leaned against a cracked pillar, the sword I'd forged resting across his lap. Lisett sat cross-legged on the ground, her back to the forge, rolling a small bandage between her fingers as she watched us with a faint smirk.

"You know," she said, her voice cutting through the quiet, "if someone had told me I'd end up sitting in a half-ruined forge, patching up a half-dead dwarf and a half-starved human while a dragon sleeps upstairs, I'd have called them insane."

Karvek chuckled, a low, dry sound. "And yet, here we are."

"Here we are," I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. The ache in my ribs was duller now, but it was still there, a reminder of how close I'd come to eating steel earlier. "Not how I planned it, either."

Karvek ran a hand over the flat of his blade, his fingers tracing the runes I'd etched into the steel. "So, what's next, then?" he asked, not looking up. "We've got a forge, we've got weapons. What's the plan?"

I shrugged, though the motion pulled at my stitches. "Same as before. Keep moving, keep fighting. The Path's not going to stop because we've holed up here for a night."

"And if they come looking for us?" Lisett asked, her tone sharp. "If they find us before we find them?"

"They won't." My voice was firm, though I wasn't sure I believed it. "Not here. They've got no reason to come sniffing around Barak-Khald."

"Unless they do," Karvek said, his eyes finally meeting mine. "They're not stupid, Doran. They'll hear about what happened to their cells, what you've been doing. They'll send someone. And when they do, this little hideaway of yours won't hold."

I didn't answer right away. He wasn't wrong. The Path wasn't made up of simple raiders and fools. They had ruin masters, tacticians, people who could track us down if they wanted to. I could already see it—another battle, another tide of enemies swarming the forge. Even with the dragon's help, there was only so much we could hold off.

"Then we move before they find us," I said finally, my voice low. "We rest, we rearm, and then we go."

Lisett snorted. "Rest, huh? You might actually listen to your own advice for once."

"I'm sitting, aren't I?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You're sitting because you can't stand."

I grunted, leaning back against the wall and closing my eyes. The warmth from the forge washed over me, soothing the worst of the aches. For a moment, I let myself believe it might be enough. That maybe, just maybe, we could catch our breath before the next storm hit.

"Alright, dwarf," Karvek said, his voice cutting through my thoughts. "You've got a forge. You've got your armor. You've got me, apparently." He smirked, his expression as dry as the mountain air. "What's the big plan?"

"Big plan?" I opened one eye and glanced at him. "You think I've got a big plan?"

He shrugged. "Most people don't keep carving a path through the Path unless they've got a reason. You've got a reason, don't you?"

I didn't answer right away. The truth was, I wasn't entirely sure what my reason was anymore. Revenge? Survival? Maybe it was just that I couldn't stop. The hammer always had to come down again, the next weapon always needed forging. Maybe that was my reason. Or maybe it was something I didn't want to admit.

"Big plan or not," I said after a moment, "the Path needs to be stopped. They keep tearing through villages, taking what they want, killing whoever gets in their way. Someone has to stand in their way."

"And that someone's you?" Karvek asked, his tone light but his gaze steady.

I met his eyes. "That someone's us."

He nodded slowly, as if weighing my words. Then he leaned back against the pillar, his fingers still tracing the runes on his sword. Lisett said nothing, just watched us both with that faint, knowing smile of hers. The fire crackled on, and for a little while, the silence felt almost comfortable. Almost.

As the fire burned low, casting long shadows against the stone walls, I rolled the strap of my pack tighter and cinched it shut. The forge had served its purpose—my armor held, and Karvek had a proper blade again—but I knew we couldn't stay. The Path wouldn't ignore what I'd done. Every cell I'd crushed was a step closer to them noticing. If we lingered, they'd send something worse than goblins or trolls. They'd send ruin masters, tacticians, killers who wouldn't stop until the halls of Barak-Khald were silent once more.

Lisett finished cleaning her supplies, her hands methodical and quick. She glanced up at me, her brow furrowed. "You're planning to leave."

I nodded. "No reason to stick around. We've got what we came for."

"You came for the forge," she said, gesturing to the glowing coals behind me. "You said you needed it to survive. And now you're just going to leave it behind?"

"What do you expect me to do? Carry it on my back?" My voice came out harsher than I meant. The aches from the battle were still fresh, and I wasn't in the mood for a debate. "It's not like the forge is going anywhere. If I need it again, I know where it is. But staying here? That's a death sentence."

Karvek, still seated on a chunk of fallen stone, ran a whetstone along the edge of his new sword. His movements were slow, deliberate, his expression thoughtful. "The Path's not coming for the forge," he said. "They're coming for you."

I shot him a sharp look. "What do you know about what they're coming for?"

"I've seen it," he said, his voice calm. He turned the sword in his hands, inspecting the edge before looking back at me. "That caravan my men and I ambushed—it wasn't just supplies. They were moving something. Something important. We never saw what was in the chest, not fully, but the way they guarded it… it wasn't ordinary."

"Maybe they're just paranoid," I said, though the words felt hollow even as they left my mouth. I'd heard enough about the Path's operations to know they weren't careless. If they'd guarded that chest with their lives, it meant something.

Karvek shrugged. "Maybe. But I've been a mercenary long enough to know when someone's moving gold and when they're moving something dangerous. Whatever was in that chest, it wasn't meant for trading. It was meant for war."

Lisett looked between the two of us, her gaze sharp. "And you think chasing after them is going to help us?"

"It's not about chasing them," I said. "It's about cutting them off. The Path's been growing stronger, spreading into places they don't belong. If we don't stop them, no one will."

Karvek snorted, though there was no humor in it. "You think this small group can take them on?"

"Maybe not all at once," I admitted. "But we've hurt them. They'll be looking over their shoulders now. That's a start."

The dragon stirred in the shadows, a low rumble shaking the air. Its massive form moved closer, its glowing eyes narrowing as it regarded us. "You speak of war," it said, its voice deep and resonant. "Do you truly believe you can stop them?"

I met its gaze, though the weight of it pressed against me like a heavy smith's hammer. "If we don't try, who will?"

The dragon's nostrils flared, a puff of smoke escaping as it exhaled slowly. "You have courage, dwarf. But courage alone is not enough. I will not leave this place. I have slept long, and I have no desire to wander the world again. But if you return here, if you survive, I may consider lending my fire once more."

I inclined my head slightly—a small show of respect, though I wasn't entirely sure how much I trusted the creature. "Fair enough."

"And your men?" Lisett asked Karvek. "Do they want to keep fighting?"

Karvek glanced toward his remaining companions. They sat slumped near the forge's edge, their faces hollowed by exhaustion and loss. "They've been through hell," he said quietly. "We all have. But I think they know as well as I do that there's no running from this. The Path's not just going to forget about us because we tried and failed. If we're going to survive, we have to keep fighting."

"They have to want it," Lisett pressed. "Not because you say so, but because they believe it."

Karvek gave a faint nod. "I'll talk to them. I'll make sure they're in it for the right reasons."

Lisett let out a small huff. "Good. Because we can't carry dead weight."

I rolled my shoulders, feeling the familiar weight of my pack. "We rest tonight. Tomorrow, we move. The Path doesn't wait, and neither do we."

No one argued. The fire continued to crackle, the dragon's shadow stretched long against the walls, and for a brief moment, I allowed myself to hope that maybe—just maybe—we were ready for what came next.