"You really told him that?" My brother asked, dodging a kick I had aimed at his head. "Stop using your legs so much. That's such an elf thing to do."
"Yes I did, and it's not my fault that you're so short." I replied, a little out of breath.
The following morning after that night on the tavern balcony, I greeted Salim as if he were any other customer retrieving their finished blade. Of course, it was a difficult thing to do, but I had no intention of exploring something with someone that wouldn't be here for months on end.
I threw my leg out in a sweeping motion to my brother's legs, causing him to tumble over onto the fighting mat. It was a sunny autumn afternoon, and the air was light and airy on our sweat covered bodies. Since I wrapped up all my commissions and stocked the inventory the day before last, I took the morning off to train with Sigurd. From an early age, my father threw the both of us into the fighting ring in the upper part of the blade-smith shop to learn to fight. When he was our age, he lived a life in chains and was unable to learn how to fight except when he was thrown into the fight pits. Of course, I never complained, I always loved hand to hand combat.
Sigurd and I always had that in common. My father hated the dwarven fighting pits, but for us it was an enjoyable pastime. As it was for a good majority of people. If the humans gave the continent great innovations such as the train, electricity, and modern plumbing, we gave them the dwarven fight pits. Of course, a lot of dwarves had a disdain for it after the two hundred year leash the dawn elves held over them. Their cultured pastime was rooted in history and honor, but was turned into a perverse thrill during their reign. Which often meant throwing in whoever they wanted to see be beaten into a pulp.
While many travelers came for the elusive dwarven goods that were often hard to come by, many came just to see the dwarven fighting pits that sat on the level just below ours. On occasion, my brother and I would still sneak out just to see the latest fight and route for our favorite team.
"Looks like my elf moves kicked your ass." I said, grinning like an idiot as I held out my hand for my brother.
"Whatever." He chuckled in between heavy breaths, lifting himself off the mat. "So, if you do end up seeing that wayward again, what will you do?"
"Do what? I think I drew my line in the sand pretty thoroughly." I scoffed.
"Sounds to me like you didn't." He retorted, "Honestly, it sounds like you might entertain the idea of something else coming from it."
"As interesting as that would be, no. It wouldn't be good for me. I enjoy my job and he seems to enjoy his. Neither of us will give it up for the other." I said, taking off the fighting wraps that covered my feet and hands.
"Hm. You're right." He laughed, "At least you have 400ish years to figure out your love life. Maybe be lucky enough to have a mate."
"As if that's enough time." I laughed back, taking the last bit of wrappings off my feet. In our training room, there were several windows carved into the mountain to be able to see the eastern horizon. Today, we had the windows open letting in the chilled air to cool down our sweat riddled bodies. I tilted my head back to enjoy the breeze. I then continued, "Well, I gotta go take over the shop for the old man."
"Hope it's a slow day for you." Sigurd called from the mat. He allowed one hand to wave a goodbye while the other continued to untie his own wrappings.
I knew it most likely would be. It was a Sunday, which meant most would be attending the fighting pits. The largest team matches are held on Sundays during the day. Though it was called the dwarven fight pits, teams were formed from all kinds of races. They were all trained under the same strict rules as the ancient dwarven. Since no magic was allowed, it couldn't turn into a bloodbath as quickly. Thankfully, it would give me a day of light foot traffic into the shop.
Heading down the stairs to the forge, I saw my father standing over an anvil. His head turned when I feigned a cough. Since my footsteps were often too light for his ears to hear, I had to let him know where I was before I ended up startling him.
"Train well?" He asked, looking back down at the weapon sitting on the anvil before him.
"Yeah, we both knocked each other down a few times." I laughed, "I'm going to change. I'll take over for you when I'm done."
"Don't worry too much about that. I'm going to be in the office doin' paperwork. The elder council is continuin' to beg me to join. Maybe a letter damnin' them all will convince them against it."
"You should join." I replied casually. "You deserve to have a say in how Forge City operates."
"It would take me outta the shop. That would be too annoyin' for me." He sighed.
"Maybe think about it more before you curse them." I chided. All he responded with in return was an annoyed grunt.
When I returned from changing into the normal blade-smithing uniform, my father was already in his office. In the small window fitted into the stone wall, I could see the old man working on the paperwork, reading glasses fixed to his face. Since there was no reason for me to hang around in the forge, I headed into the shop. I reorganized a few of the racks of weapons that had been crudely placed on the wall, by my father no doubt, and opened the window to let the autumn breeze into the hot room.
As I stood, leaning against the window, I watched the travelers passed by. My ear twitched at the sound of the bell jingle. Swiveling my head toward the door, I saw a tall man standing at the entrance. He looked absolutely bewildered just by simply being here. The more I looked, the more I found the sight of him to be odd. Yes, being tall by human standards is not too uncommon. Human's that stood a head taller than me though, that was strange. Not only did the height difference set off alarm bells, but the fact that there seemed to be a haze around his head was even more odd. Was he using magic? Were my dusk elven eyes just sensitive to the light? I wasn't all too sure.
The hooded cloak he wore shifted as he fidgeted where he stood. Gradually, he moved the hood off his head. Long copper hair tumbled out from beneath the hood and fell to his upper back. I could more clearly make out the features of his face. While his body was the one that could not hide his emotions, his face told a different story. The man's face, while stoic and cold, was handsome. Light red freckles danced across his nose and across his high cheek bones. Jade colored eyes sat above those high cheekbones in a way that looked down on anyone who dare be targeted by them.
Not bothering to be the least bit intimidated, I walked over to the man the same way I would with any customer.
"You looking to have a weapon in your hands?" I casually said, internally wincing as those jade eyes fell on me.
"I'm looking to speak with Iron Philli." His smooth voice said in a blunt manner. An unfamiliar lilt danced in his voice that I couldn't quite place.
"He's indisposed at the moment, but if you're looking to have a weapon made I can help with that as well." I replied, ignoring the daggers his eyes were throwing in my direction.
"No, thank you." The words were polite, but the tone that was woven into them was anything but that.
"Well, if you insist, I'll grab my father." I narrowed my eyes on him but still gave the man a smile.
"Good." The man replied curtly. If he weren't a prospective customer, I probably would have blasted him out of the shop. Keeping my cool, I moved toward the forge and knocked on my father's office door before opening it.
"What do ya' need?" He asked, brown eyes looking up at me.
"You know the usual. Somebody wants a commission from you." I chuckled.
"Tell em' I'm busy." He shooed me off with a wave of his hand, but I didn't move.
"Something tells me he'll need to hear that from you." I raised an eyebrow at him. He knew damn well what I meant by that. In response, he just let out an exasperated sigh and removed his ovular, gold rimmed glasses.
"Gods, I can't get a moment of peace." He said tightly to no one in particular. "If only they knew ya' were the better blade-smith."
"Go on, old man. Flattery isn't getting you out of this." I jested, leading him out of his office.
Though my father was short, it didn't make him any less intimidating to strangers. A deep leathery scar graced his face, under his right eye. His resting expression was one of annoyance and the face he made while deep in thought was one that someone might give to their murder victim. Most dwarves prided on having boisterous voices that could carry throughout an entire room. My father, on the other hand, was far quieter than most. In fact, it often added to intimidating those before him.
It was no different for the man who sneered at me only moments before my father walked into the shop.
"Ya' asked for me?" my father asked in a low tone, his gold beads tinkling against one another as he shifted his weight.
"I need to speak with you in private." The man said, not shrinking away from the scary old dwarf in front of him. I noticed those jade eyes shift from me back to my father. It was fast, but not fast enough for me to not get irritated by it.
"Whatever ya' need to say, ya' can say it in front of my daughter." My father's dwarven accent was thick and rising with heat. Instead of saying what he needed to, the man remained silent. "And dispel that illusion, boy. It stinks of the dawn elf."
Now, those jade eyes were faltering from their steady calm. With a widened expression and a small movement from his hands, that haziness I had caught onto when he first came in, disappeared. In the place of the haze rested two pointed ears and sun-kissed olive skin.
"I knew something was off about you." I chuckled. The male's eyes flicked to me, sending another round of invisible daggers in my direction. My grin only grew wider at the expression.
"Now, that the air is clear," My father sighed with mild irritation, folding his arms across his chest, "I'll ask again. What do ya' need?"
"I need death steel." The male replied bluntly. I gave my father a confused look, and moved my eyes back to the male before me. His expression was now returned to the dead calm he had before.
"How?" My father hissed. An eyebrow twitched on his scarred face and he let loose a sigh, "Fine, you'll get privacy. Follow me into my office."
Now, it was my turn to give an incredulous look. My father gave me an apologetic look in return, but continued on into his office; the dawn elf following behind. As the door clicked shut, I heard my brother's footsteps coming down the stone stairs.
"Why in the gods is there a dawn elf in pa's office?" His tone was just as incredulous as the expression frozen on my face.
"If I figure out why, I'll let you know." I replied, shaking it off.
"I thought dawn elves were forbidden from crossing our border." He said in more of a question rather than a statement.
"He came in looking like a human." I said, eyes fixed on my father and the stranger. It was clear that my father had casted a muting spell over the office since I couldn't hear a word that was spoken between them.
Sigurd and I continued to watch the dawn elf and our father speak. Unfortunately for us, the dawn elf's back was turned and our father was not one to say more than needed when speaking with strangers. If a simple no sufficed, that is what he would give. This time was no different. Still, our eyes were glued to the window that revealed our father.
It wasn't until feathery green magic swirled on our father's head did we move from our spot.
"What the hell is that?" My brother asked.
"Magic, dumb ass." I quietly snapped. The more I observed though, the more clear it was that my father was allowing it. "Pa isn't fighting it, but I'm keeping my eyes on it."
"Hey, don't forget I'm a fire mage too." He murmured, "We'll burn the bastard to a crisp if he tries anything."
I watched as the feathery green magic wrapped around my father's head like a crown of vines snaking up a tree. They pulsed with the same intensity as our magic did on runes. I won't lie, it was the first time I had ever encountered earth magic. Earth magic had been outlawed within the city and was only allowed for businesses with a permit for it.
The magic began to fade and I watched as the glazed look in my father's eyes returned to a more conscious state. His brow returned to its usual furrow, and looked up to the dawn elf. I could see the word 'no' being said on his lips. After a moment of steady eyes being set on the dawn elf, it was followed by a shake of the head, followed by another no. The door flew open in a fury.
"Again, if ya' need lodgin's, my son here would be happy to provide ya' with a place to rest ya' head for the night. Our tavern is just up the road." My father's gruff voice was unnaturally steady and calm.
"Me?" My brother asked with a look of utter distaste. His outburst was only met with a murderous look from our father. "Okay... Yes, me."
My brother motioned for the dawn elf to follow, but before opening the door, Sigurd turned back to look up at the male.
"Oh, yeah, do whatever magic trick you did before coming in here. The first level has the most guards." He said then turned back to continue opening the door, the dawn elf following with the most reluctance I had ever seen on one person before. Once the door to the shop clicked shut, I whirled to face my father.
"What in the gods' names is death steel?" I asked before he could turn back to his office.
"Not somethin' ya' should concern yourself with." Was all he replied with.