Chapter 54 – Business In The Streets

"What are we going to do now?" Tobren asked.

"Let's look around while we're here. If you see something good for the village, tell me."

"Alright. Let's check the market."

Ren and Tobren moved through the bustle of Ironpeak's market.

The air was thick with the smell of grilled meat, roasted nuts, and fresh bread.

A familiar voice cut through the noise, the same boy from Ren's last visit, still shouting from his stall.

"Three for one! Freshest fruit in Ironpeak! You won't find better!"

Ren smiled faintly. The boy hadn't grown an inch.

They passed rows of merchants, pots, pans, hammer, ropes.

Until Tobren slowed, eyes on a small stall tucked between two larger ones.

It was just a cloth on the ground, with baskets of seed pods, dried tubers, and small bundles wrapped in oilskin.

The seller was an older woman, her hair streaked with silver, hands stained with soil.

Tobren crouched, picking up a seed pod the size of his thumb, rolling it between his fingers.

"What's this?" Tobren asked.

"Hardroot," the woman said. Her voice was rough but kind. "Grows in bad soil. Needs little water. Easy to handle."

Tobren glanced at Ren. "Could take in our fields. Might be worth a try."

Ren nodded. "Price?"

The woman held up two fingers. "Two silver for a bundle. Enough for one plot."

Tobren didn't haggle. He counted out the coins, then added a copper. "For luck."

The woman's face softened. "Good heart. May your fields be kinder than mine."

Tobren tucked the bundle into his pack. "Let's hope so."

They left the warmth of the main market, following narrower streets where the air grew heavier, the sounds sharper, the ring of hidden forges, muttered deals, the clink of coin exchanged behind drawn curtains.

At last, they reached a crooked alley where the so-called black market lived.

A tangle of makeshift stalls under patched awnings, shadows pooling in corners where the sun dared not reach.

Here, relic hunters, scrap dealers, and outcasts hawked goods of questionable origin. The air smelled of oil, smoke, and cold metal.

The map in Ren's satchel flared to life. Glowing faintly, pulsing against his side.

But this time, the glow didn't shape into lines or symbols. No clear direction, no image.

Just that steady throb of power, as if urging him to notice something he couldn't see.

What are you trying to show me? Ren thought, frowning.

They hadn't gone far when a figure came flying out of a small shop, landing hard in the dust.

"Get out of here, you idiot!" a man's voice shouted. "If you can't forge a blade, don't come begging for work in my stall! And don't come back!"

The door slammed.

Ren blinked, the scene pulling at a memory.

Evelyn, thrown aside by fools.

But this wasn't Evelyn. This was a dwarf. Stocky, thick hands, black beard streaked with ash-gray, his clothes plain but sturdy.

The dwarf groaned, pushing himself to one elbow. The market folk barely glanced at him before going back to their business.

Tobren glanced at Ren. Silent, but clear.

Ren sighed, half smiling. "Don't look at me like that. I want to help anyway."

Tobren stepped back, letting him go ahead.

Ren offered his hand. "Can you get up?"

The dwarf hesitated, then grunted and took it. His grip was solid. Ren helped him up.

"Thanks," the dwarf muttered, dusting himself off. "Not used to falling on my face in front of strangers."

"No shame in it," Ren said. "What's your name?"

"Dugan Stonebrew. Smith. Or I try to be, when they let me."

Ren raised a brow. "They threw you out for trying to work?"

Dugan spat dust to the side. "They don't want a smith who makes hinges, locks, tools. They want blades, spears, shields. I don't forge weapons. I won't."

Ren nodded slowly. "You don't forge weapons?"

"Never will. I made a vow. I craft everything else. Best you'll find this side of the mountains, if you ask me. But try telling that to a market full of men who only think steel's worth swinging at someone's throat."

Tobren crossed his arms, an eyebrow raised. "Think you've actually got skill?"

Dugan gave a wry grin, as if daring them to doubt him. "I can shape iron like clay, boy. I can make a lock pick so fine it'll slip a king's vault. A hinge that won't creak in a hundred years. Just don't ask me to put edge to weapon."

Ren glanced at Tobren, then back at Dugan. "That's exactly the kind of skill I'm looking for."

Dugan blinked. "You serious?"

"Serious as I've ever been. Walk with us. Let's talk."

The map pulsed again, not in warning, but in agreement.

***

They walked on, eyes on the cluttered stalls. The map's pulse stayed steady. Then, near the end of the alley, it grew stronger.

Ren's hand drifted to the satchel.

They stopped at a table piled with scrap. A crooked old man with one good eye watched them.

Among the junk. A small cube, etched with faint lines, half-buried under coiled wire.

Ren's heart quickened.

"What is it?" Tobren asked.

"The map," Ren said quietly.

Ren stepped forward. "Where'd you get that?"

The old man grinned, showing yellowed teeth. "South tunnels. Near the old shafts no one dares enter."

Ren picked it up. It was heavier than it looked. The markings felt... familiar. Right.

"How much?"

"For you? Five silver."

Tobren scoffed. "Five? For junk?"

Dugan shook his head. "If I'd made it, I'd sell it for one."

"You heard that, old man?" Tobren said.

The old man snorted. "Three."

Ren smirked. "Maybe I'll be a regular. Two."

The old man sighed. "Fine. Take it."

Ren paid. As he slipped the cube into his pack, the map's warmth faded.

***

They headed toward the guild to pick up Doro. The streets grew quieter as they walked, the noise of the market fading behind them.

On the way, Ren glanced at Dugan. "You know where we're going?"

"No idea," Dugan said, adjusting the strap of his pack.

"The Wasteland," Ren said.

Dugan blinked. "Really? There's a village?"

Tobren nodded. "There is. You'll see for yourself soon enough."

"My family was from the East," Dugan said after a pause.

Ren looked at him. "Where are they now?"

"Gone. Old age. They passed at two hundred."

Ren stared. "Two hundred?!"

Dugan chuckled. "Why so shocked? That's normal for us."

By the time they reached the guild and found Doro waiting where they'd left him, the sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows across the stone streets.

Ren tightened the straps on his satchel, glancing at the dwarf one last time before they left the city behind.

"You really want to work with me?"

"If you can pay me, I'll work," Dugan said with a shrug. "Just no weapons."

"I know," Ren said, smiling. "And I will. Let's go."

They rode out of Ironpeak together. With a dwarf, a bundle of seeds, and a small box whose purpose remained a mystery.