Chapter 20

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 six worn-out souls trudging toward the centre of it.

The weather turned sour as we left the settlement's gates behind us. A cold drizzle began to fall, turning the narrow, rock-strewn paths into slick, treacherous tracks. Above us, low clouds clung to the mountainside, blotting out the rising sun and wrapping the peaks in a grey shroud. The wind came in sharp gusts, sending icy tendrils through my hair and down my neck. Each step was a careful negotiation with the terrain—wet stone and patches of loose gravel threatened to send us tumbling if we lost focus.

I adjusted my pack, feeling the familiar weight of tools and scavenged metal inside. The armor I'd forged at Barak-Khald was strapped tightly to the outside of the pack, the various plates bundled with cloth to keep them from clanging together. It wasn't practical to wear the full set while hiking. The breastplate would chafe my shoulders after only an hour of walking, and the gauntlets would have shredded my hands by now. The armor was built for combat, not travel. For now, I carried only my hammer and my knife on my belt, and wore a simple leather jerkin over my tunic to ward off the worst of the rain. My boots, at least, were solid—dwarven craftsmanship, built to endure long marches over uneven ground.

The others were less fortunate. Karvek's men moved slowly, their heads down against the wind. Their coats and cloaks were threadbare, offering little protection from the cold. They clutched their weapons like talismans, as though the steel might keep them warm. Lisett had her hood pulled low, her arms crossed as she walked beside me. Her boots squelched in the mud, and I could tell she was keeping an eye on the others, watching for any sign that they might collapse.

The trail wound through a shallow ravine, the rocky walls closing in on either side. The ground here was firmer, but the shadows were deeper. The rain eased to a light mist, clinging to our hair and beards, but the chill remained. My breath misted in the air, each exhale a reminder of how far we were from warmth and safety. The ravine floor was littered with debris—broken branches, loose stones, the occasional glint of iron or steel half-buried in the muck. I kept an eye out for anything useful, but most of it was rusted beyond salvage.

Karvek broke the silence, his voice low and rough. "It'll get worse before it gets better."

I glanced at him. "You mean the weather, or the Path?"

"Both," he said. "These mountains are unforgiving. I've seen men die out here just from a bad storm."

"I'm a dwarf," I replied. "I've been through worse."

"Maybe. But my men…" He didn't finish the thought, just looked back over his shoulder at the three stragglers following us. One of them stumbled on a loose rock, catching himself on the shaft of his spear before he fell.

"They need food and rest," Lisett said, her tone sharp. "If we don't stop soon, they're going to drop."

"We can't stop yet," Karvek said, his voice hardening. "Not until we're clear of these hills."

"Pushing them until they collapse isn't going to help anyone," she shot back.

I raised a hand, silencing the argument before it could get worse. "We'll stop once we find proper shelter. No point in breaking our backs out here if it kills us. But if we stop now, we'll lose what little ground we've gained."

Lisett muttered something under her breath but didn't argue further. Karvek gave me a curt nod, his expression grim. He knew I was right, but it didn't make the march any easier.

We pressed on through the ravine until it opened into a small, rocky basin. A cluster of large boulders formed a natural alcove on one side, offering some protection from the wind and rain. It wasn't much, but it was enough. I called for a halt, and the group collapsed onto the wet ground, too tired to care about the mud. Karvek's men huddled together, pulling what little they had from their packs—small scraps of dried meat, a handful of hard biscuits. Lisett dug into her own supplies, handing out strips of jerky and a few strips of cloth to dry their faces.

I found a spot near the edge of the alcove, where a flat stone served as a makeshift seat. I laid my pack down carefully, keeping the armor plates bundled and out of the wettest patches. I'd need to oil them soon, to keep the rust at bay. Skarnvalk leaned against the boulder next to me, the hammer's head resting on the ground. It was a reassuring weight, its runes faintly visible in the dim light. I didn't believe in magic, not fully, but there was something about the hammer that made me feel a little less exposed. Like it was watching my back, even when I wasn't.

The wind howled through the basin, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and wet earth. My fingers worked at the straps of my boots, adjusting them for the march ahead. Every move was deliberate, focused. Survival wasn't just about fighting. It was about making the right choices, the small decisions that kept you alive another day. Tighten your boots before they rub your feet raw. Keep your armor clean and your tools sharp. Don't waste energy on unnecessary arguments.

As I worked, my mind wandered to Brugath's Hollow. I'd heard of it in passing years ago—a dwarven mine that had collapsed under its own ambition. If the Path had taken it, it meant there was something valuable in those tunnels. Something worth digging for. The thought made my hands itch for a forge, for the solid strike of hammer on steel. Whatever they were after, it was bound to be trouble. But trouble was something I'd learned to deal with. One step, one swing, one blow at a time.

The wind picked up again, sending a fresh spray of rain across the basin. I pulled my cloak tighter around me and leaned back against the rock, my thoughts turning to the next stretch of the journey. There was no turning back now. The storm wasn't just behind us—it was waiting ahead.