Chapter 19

The next morning, we shouldered our packs and made our way out of Barak-Khald. The chill of the mountain air bit at my skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the forge's embrace. The dragon hadn't stirred as we'd prepared to leave, only watched from its perch in the shadows. Its glowing eyes followed us to the exit, but it made no sound, no movement. Just that low, lingering gaze. I glanced back at it one last time, my thoughts a mess of uncertainty. Part of me wanted to stay—wanted to dig in and turn Barak-Khald into something more than a forgotten ruin. But that would mean relying on the dragon, and I wasn't keen on putting my life in the claws of something I barely understood.

"It's not the last we'll see of it," I muttered under my breath, more to myself than anyone else.

Lisett gave me a sideways look. "Talking to yourself now?"

"Just thinking," I said. "It's not like it's coming with us. That thing's got its own reasons for staying put. Probably just as well."

"I wouldn't count on it staying put forever," she said. "Dragons don't sit still without a reason."

Karvek, walking a few paces ahead, grunted in agreement. "If it follows us, it'll make its intentions clear. I'm more concerned about where we're headed."

He was right, of course. The Path wouldn't be far behind us. They'd know what happened at Barak-Khald soon enough, and when they did, they'd send something worse than goblins. Something stronger, smarter. I tightened my grip on Skarnvalk's haft, the hammer a comforting weight in my hand.

We descended through the jagged mountain trails, the path twisting and crumbling beneath our boots. The wind howled through the peaks, carrying with it the faint echo of distant avalanches. Every step was a reminder of how far we were from safety. Karvek had mentioned a settlement at the base of the range, a place where dwarves and mountainfolk lived side by side. He claimed to know someone there—a trader or a contact of some sort—but he hadn't gone into much detail. I didn't push. If it meant shelter and information, I'd take it.

When we finally reached the edge of the mountains, the settlement came into view. It clung to the mountainside, its structures carved into the stone itself. The lower half of the town was more traditional—wooden lodges and slate-roofed buildings, smoke curling from chimneys. But higher up, where the cliffs rose sheer and steep, the architecture changed. Massive stone pillars supported balconies that jutted out over the abyss. Bridges of black granite spanned narrow chasms, connecting towers that climbed toward the sky. The upper levels were unmistakably dwarven—angular, sturdy, and ornate. Even from a distance, I could see the runes etched into the stone, their meanings lost to time but their craftsmanship evident.

As we approached the gates, I felt the familiar weight of eyes on me. The guards, a mix of mountainfolk clad in heavy furs and dwarves in polished steel, sized us up with suspicion. I could feel the tension in their stances, the unspoken questions hanging in the air. Who were we? Why were we here? And more importantly, were we trouble?

I stepped forward, my posture stiff but not aggressive. "We're just passing through," I said. "Looking for a place to rest. Nothing more."

One of the dwarven guards—a broad-shouldered man with a braided beard and a shield slung across his back—narrowed his eyes. "You look like you've been through a war."

"Close enough," I replied. "We're not here to cause trouble."

The guard glanced at Karvek, who met his gaze without flinching. Then his eyes moved to Lisett, who stood quietly at my side. Finally, he nodded. "You can enter, but keep to the lower quarter. Don't go wandering where you're not wanted."

"Fair enough," I said.

We passed through the gates, and the settlement opened up before us. The streets were bustling with activity—dwarves hauling carts of ore, mountainfolk carrying bundles of firewood, traders shouting over each other in a jumble of accents. The air smelled of stone and soot, mixed with the faint aroma of smoked meat and ale. The lower quarter was noisy, alive, and unrelentingly practical. Every building had a purpose, every path a function. Above us, the upper levels loomed, quieter and more imposing. It was clear where the power lay—up there, among the carved stone halls and runed archways.

The others stayed close as we moved through the crowd. I kept my head down, trying not to draw attention. It wasn't often I found myself among other dwarves, and the last thing I wanted was a reunion with someone who might know my past. The thought of running into an old acquaintance made my chest tighten. I didn't have time for that kind of distraction.

"Where are we headed?" Lisett asked.

Karvek gestured toward a large building near the center of the lower quarter. A heavy wooden sign swung above the door, the image of a frothing mug carved into the wood. "The tavern," he said. "It's where people talk. If there's information to be had, that's where we'll find it."

"And your contact?" I asked.

He shrugged. "If he's still here, we'll know soon enough."

The tavern was noisy and dim, the air thick with the smell of spilled ale and roasted meat. The crowd was a mix of dwarves and mountainfolk, their conversations a jumble of languages and dialects. Karvek scanned the room, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded toward a corner booth, where a man sat hunched over a tankard. He was older, his beard streaked with grey, and his clothes were simple but well-made. His eyes flicked toward us as we approached, and I saw a glint of recognition in them.

"Karvek," the man said, his voice low and gravelly. "Didn't think I'd see you again."

"Neither did I," Karvek replied. "But I'm here. And I need your help."

The man's gaze moved to me, then to Lisett. "This your crew?"

"Something like that."

The man leaned back, his tankard in hand, and let out a slow breath. "Alright. Let's hear what you need."

The dim light of the tavern made the shadows seem deeper than they were, casting the worn wooden beams and patched tables in a haze of grey and brown. The air reeked of spilled ale, sour wine, and the faint tang of sweat soaked into the floorboards over decades. I kept my back straight and my hammer close, my fingers brushing Skarnvalk's haft where it rested against my chair. The noise of conversation filled the room, but none of it carried any particular warmth. It wasn't the kind of place people came to laugh. It was the kind of place they came to drink because they didn't have anywhere better.

Karvek's contact leaned back in the booth, his grizzled face catching the orange glow of the firelight. He looked older than he probably was—years on the road, in the cold and the dark, had carved lines into his skin like a smith's chisel on steel. His hand rested on the table, fingers brushing the rim of his tankard, but his eyes were sharp. Not the dulled, bored look of someone who'd been drinking too long, but the focused gaze of a man always aware of his surroundings.

"So," the contact said, his voice a low rumble, "what's brought you back into my life, Karvek?"

Karvek didn't waste time. "The Path. We hit one of their caravans a while back. Got hit harder in return. Now we need information—anything that can help us get ahead of them. You still have your ears to the ground?"

The older man chuckled, though it was a sound without humor. "I hear things, sure. Doesn't mean I like what I hear. The Path's been moving fast, pulling more resources into the mountains. Word is they've taken over a mine on the eastern slopes—using it as a staging ground. Supplies, weapons, maybe worse."

"And the chest?" I asked, cutting in. "Karvek said they were transporting something. Something important. Any idea what that might be?"

The man's gaze flicked to me, his lips tightening for a moment before he shrugged. "I've heard whispers. People talk about artifacts, ancient things pulled from ruins older than even these walls. Could be a weapon, could be something else entirely. Whatever it is, they're willing to spill a lot of blood to keep it under wraps."

The words settled heavily between us. Lisett leaned forward, her hands clasped in front of her. "And the mine? What's it called?"

"Brugath's Hollow," the man said. "Used to be a dwarven mine. Long abandoned, though—collapsed in on itself a few decades ago. Now the Path's got their claws in it. Reopened some of the old tunnels, brought in workers, but it's not just ore they're pulling out of the ground."

"What then?" Karvek pressed.

The man hesitated, his fingers tightening around the tankard. "I don't know. Just heard it's… unnatural. Whatever they're digging for, it's not gold or iron. And if the Path's involved, you can bet it's not good."

We left the tavern shortly after, the contact's words still ringing in my ears. Brugath's Hollow. An old mine turned into a fortress of sorts. It wasn't much of a lead, but it was more than we had before. If the Path was staging out of there, it meant a concentration of resources. Supplies, weapons, maybe even answers. But it also meant danger. If they were holding something important, they'd have it heavily guarded. We'd be walking into another fight, one that might be worse than anything we'd seen so far.

As we stepped out into the cold night air, I found myself glancing up at the higher levels of the settlement. The carved stone towers loomed above us, their runes faintly glimmering in the moonlight. Dwarves still worked up there, I knew. Stonecutters, smiths, the kind of craftsmen who kept the settlement alive. My own kin, though I felt no kinship. The thought of speaking to them, of asking for their help, turned my stomach. I'd left that life behind for a reason.

"Something on your mind?" Lisett asked, her voice cutting through my thoughts.

"Just wondering if they'd even remember me up there," I said, nodding toward the dwarven levels.

"Would it matter if they did?"

I didn't answer. I wasn't sure if I had an answer.

Karvek, walking ahead of us, slowed his pace. He glanced over his shoulder, his brow furrowed. "We need supplies. If we're going to Brugath's Hollow, we'll need more than what we've got."

"And where do you suggest we get them?" I asked. "Not like we're welcome everywhere."

"I know a trader," Karvek said. "Not far from here. She's cautious, but if we play it right, we can get what we need without too many questions. Might cost more than we'd like, though."

"Better than walking into a fight empty-handed," Lisett said. "What's the alternative?"

"There's always the dwarves," Karvek said, his tone pointed. "They might not welcome you with open arms, but they might have what we need. Could be worth asking."

I clenched my jaw, my gaze fixed on the darkened path ahead. The thought of walking into a dwarven hall, of facing that kind of scrutiny, made my skin crawl. But he was right. If it came to survival, I'd swallow my pride. I always had.

The decision weighed heavily on me as we made our way toward the lower quarter's edges, where the trader Karvek mentioned kept her shop. The air grew colder, the streets quieter. The settlement seemed to settle into a restless slumber, though I knew it never truly slept. There were always eyes watching, always whispers in the dark.

And as we walked, I couldn't shake the thought of Brugath's Hollow. What would we find there? More blood, more death, more questions without answers. But we had no choice. The Path was growing stronger. If we didn't push back now, it would be too late.

We huddled around a low-burning brazier in the corner of the market square. The sun hadn't yet risen, but the settlement was already stirring. Merchants shuffled out of their lodges, hauling crates of iron and timber, stacking them by the makeshift stalls. A few dwarves sat on the stone steps, gnawing at strips of dried meat, while others quietly argued over the day's workload. The mood here was practical, if not particularly friendly.

Karvek stood a few paces away, speaking quietly with one of his men. The three who'd survived the ambush were a hard lot, but they were clearly hanging by a thread. Their clothes were torn, their boots patched and re-patched until it was a miracle they still held together. One of them—the wiry, pale one—clutched his coat tighter around himself, shivering despite the brazier's heat. Another, broader and older, leaned heavily on a spear that had seen better days. None of them looked like they had more than a few coppers to rub together.

"Are they going to make it?" Lisett asked quietly beside me. She had her hood pulled up, her face shadowed but her sharp eyes fixed on Karvek's group. "They're half-starved and running on fumes."

"They're tough," I said, though my tone wasn't as certain as I would've liked. "Tough enough to keep going. And if they're not, they can rest when we reach Brugath's Hollow. No point in babying them now."

She gave me a sidelong glance, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You're heartless, you know that?"

"I'm realistic." I reached down and adjusted my pack, feeling the weight of the tools and supplies inside. I'd scavenged most of what I could from the goblins at Barak-Khald—small scraps of iron, a few usable rivets, a handful of dull blades I might repurpose later. Not much, but enough to keep me busy if I needed to work the metal into something useful.

Lisett wasn't wrong about Karvek's men. They didn't look like they had the strength to keep marching, let alone fight. But we didn't have the luxury of waiting. If we stopped too long, the Path would find us, and it wouldn't matter how well-fed or rested we were. This wasn't about comfort. It was about staying one step ahead.

Karvek returned, his expression grim. "We need to hit the trader now. Can't risk waiting too long."

"Your men have anything to trade?" I asked, gesturing toward the three huddled figures. "Doesn't look like they're carrying much."

Karvek shook his head. "We've got a few coins between us, enough to pick up the bare essentials. Weapons, maybe a little food. But if we're buying from Hryna, we'll need more."

"Hryna?" Lisett tilted her head. "You trust her?"

"Trust isn't the word I'd use," Karvek said. "She's careful. Keeps her business quiet, doesn't ask questions. But she won't give us anything for free. If we don't have the coin, she'll turn us away."

I frowned, considering the situation. My own purse wasn't exactly full, and most of what I had left had come from scavenging or barter. The goblins hadn't carried anything worth selling, just scraps of steel and a few battered coins. Between the five of us, we could probably scrape together enough to buy a handful of rations and maybe one or two decent weapons. But if we wanted to outfit everyone—Karvek's men included—we'd need more.

"We could sell something," Lisett said, her voice hesitant.

I looked at her sharply. "Sell what?"

She gestured toward my pack. "You've got weapons, tools. Maybe—"

"Not happening." I cut her off before she could finish. "Anything I've got is worth more than the few coppers we'd get from a trader. I'm not selling my tools. Not unless you want me useless the next time we need gear."

"Fine," she said, holding up her hands. "It was just a thought."

Karvek rubbed his temples, clearly tired of the discussion. "Hryna doesn't just deal in coin. She'll take goods, if they're worth her time. If you're so sure about those tools of yours, maybe you could trade some of your skills. A quick job, something simple. Give her something she can sell, and she might cut us a deal."

I didn't like the idea of wasting time on side work, but Karvek had a point. If it meant getting what we needed to survive, I could spare a few hours. As long as it didn't pull me too far from the group's main goal.

The trader's stall was tucked in a narrow alley, half-hidden by crates of coal and bundles of firewood. Hryna herself was a stout woman with sharp eyes and a scar running down her cheek. She looked us over as we approached, her expression hard as stone.

"You've got coin?" she asked bluntly.

"Some," Karvek said. "But we might have something better."

Hryna's gaze shifted to me. "You're the smith?"

I nodded. "Doran."

She didn't offer her own name. Instead, she crossed her arms and gave me a once-over. "What can you make, dwarf?"

"Depends what you need," I said, keeping my tone even. "Got steel and tools, and I can work fast if you've got the right materials."

She tilted her head, considering. "I've got some scraps from a shipment that never sold. Odds and ends. You can work with that?"

"Show me."

Hryna led me to the back of her stall, where a pile of mismatched steel bars and warped blades sat gathering dust. It wasn't much, but I'd seen worse. I picked up a rusted knife and turned it over in my hands. The metal was soft, pitted with corrosion, but it could be reforged into something usable.

"I'll need a small forge," I said. "And coal."

"You've got the forge," she replied. "Coal's extra."

I snorted. "You want me to make something out of scrap, and you're going to charge me for coal?"

"Take it or leave it, dwarf."

I sighed, setting the knife back down. "Fine. I'll make you a blade. You give us enough coin and supplies to keep moving."

"Deal." Hryna held out her hand, and I shook it.

The forge Hryna provided was little more than a small stone furnace set in the corner of her shop. The bellows were stiff, and the anvil was pitted, but it would do. I set to work, heating the metal until it glowed a dull orange. The blade began to take shape under my hammer, each strike sending sparks into the air. The steel resisted at first, but as it softened, I could feel the old flaws giving way to something stronger. It wouldn't be a masterpiece, but it would be sharp, durable, and worth every coin we needed.

As I worked, Karvek and his men huddled outside, their eyes wary. Lisett watched me from the doorway, her arms crossed. For once, she said nothing, just kept an eye on the street, her expression unreadable.

When I finished, I held up the blade—a simple short sword, its edge clean and its balance true. Hryna inspected it with a critical eye, then nodded.

"Not bad," she said. "You'll get your coin."

It wasn't much, but it was enough to get us through the next leg of the journey. As we packed our supplies and left Hryna's stall, I couldn't shake the feeling that we were still woefully unprepared. The Path wasn't just a nuisance anymore. They were a storm on the horizon, and we were just five worn-out souls trudging toward the center of it.