Rise of the Living Forge - Chapters 258-259 (Patreon)

“No,” the Armory said.

Arwin blinked. He looked from the shield to the whorls of red mist rising up across from him. His head tilted to the side. “What do you mean, no? Why not?”

“Do you recall feeding me a training dummy?”

“Well, no. Can’t you just smack me or something?”

“And take the damage myself?” Irritation tinged the Armory’s voice. “No. If you desire a training partner, then either feed me something that I can use to replicate a training partner or find someone else. I am not your beating block. I am more than a mere tool. I am the Infernal Armory.”

Humble, are we? I suppose that’s fair enough, though. No sword is going to want to be used like a butter knife.

“Point taken,” Arwin said. He looked down at the shield in his hands, then dismissed it with a thought. “I’ll look into finding a training dummy to feed you. Do you happen to know what time it is?”

“It is evening.”

“More than enough time to get a little more work in,” Arwin mused. He rubbed his chin and thought for a moment. “You have enough energy to get one more quick piece of work in?”

“Your definition of quick and mine do not align.” Red mist swirled past Arwin and forced him to turn to track the footsteps tracking through it. “Nor do our desires. I do not enjoy driving my resourses down to the bone.”

 “Don’t be lazy. Do you have enough energy or not? I’m not trying to kill you here, but I’d like to try and make a kitchen knife for Lillia now that I know Cursed items aren’t completely evil.”

“Why would you ever take a class if you believed that there was a chance it would be completely detrimental?”

“I was unaware that my own forge was going to start getting judgy.” Arwin’s eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “It was a calculated risk.”

“You thought Cursed items sounded strong and took the class because it was more unique than normal Dwarven Smithing.”

“I may have done that, yes. But it wasn’t just because it sounded cool. I need to take risks to get ahead.”

“But it also sounded… cool.” There was something disconcerting about the way the infernal Armory said the word cool, as if it were a child testing out a new word for the first time.

“Just tell me if you can help make the knife or not,” Arwin grumbled. “But it did sound cool. Are you telling me Cursed items don’t sound at least a little cool? Especially now that we know they’re more like gambling rather than just evil?”

“Which of those questions do you want me to answer? You said to just answer if I could make the knife, but then added a second request afterward.”

Arwin’s eye twitched. “When did you become a sarcastic teenager?”

“I can make the knife so long as you do not get overly caught up in minute details and waste too much energy. As to the second question — I do not care what I make so long as I can make something. My purpose is to create. That is all. The identity of what I am used to create is irrelevant to me so long as you continue to push us toward greater feats.”

Well that totally isn’t a concerning take on things. No morals whatsoever. Then again, the Infernal Armory is hardly a completely benign entity. It’s always been a little bit unsettling at absolute best. I think I’d be sorely mistaken to assume this thing is some kind of saint. The damn thing is powered by a zombie heart, after all.

“Perfect,” Arwin said. “Let’s see what materials we’ve got then. I want to try to wrap this up before dinner.”

***

Tironal’s fingers drummed away relentlessly at his wooden table. Sweat prickled at the back of his neck and rolled down his back, soaking into his fine clothes. His office was dark, two cups of tea sat before him, both untouched. He swallowed and tugged at his collar.

A man stood in the darkness leaning against a bookshelf, his arms crossed. A metal mask covered the lower half of his face. The upper portion was concealed by a heavy nest of gray hair that camouflaged matching eyes beneath it.

Light reflected off the metal guild badge depicting nothing but a straight line carved across his chest. Even though Tironal couldn’t make out the man’s face, he was more than aware of the gaze burning into his forehead.

“There has been no progress,” the man said.

“I promise you, we’re searching as hard as we possibly can,” Tironial said. He splayed his hands out over the table, half to show that he wasn’t reaching for a weapon. The last thing he wanted to do was give the monster before him a reason to draw arms. “We cannot do anything more without stopping our normal processes. That would be—”

“Idiotic, yes.” The man cut Tironal off before he could finish his sentence. “I am not a fool. Such a change would be entirely too evident, and whoever took my Dungeon Heart would immediately flee — not to mention I suspect your guild would be crushed by the Dawnseekers when you lost so much momentum.”

“There’s more than just the Dawnseekers to concern ourselves with,” Tironal said. His hands tightened. “The Montibeau family’s heir returned to their estate and has managed to stabilize them. They aren’t a significant threat as they are now, but more competition means even more ways things can go wrong.”

“You misunderstand me. I do not care about your guild or the struggles it faces. They are of your own making. I know you desire to keep it in one piece, and at the moment, its purposes suit mine. Do not confuse that for me caring about your guild. You will find the Dungeon Heart.”

“I will endeavor to pour more resources into this,” Tironal promised, his jaw tightening until it ached. “My spymaster, Charles, will dedicate all the time he has left to aiding you. We will manage without him for the time being.”

The assassin watched Tironal impassively for several long seconds. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“Very well. I will return in time to meet him. Ensure he has something useful for me. I am displeased with the amount of time that I have already wasted in this worthless city. There will not be a third chance for you to prove yourself.”

Despite his position, a flicker of anger rolled through Tironal. He’d spent years building up the Ardent Guild. Thousands upon thousands of gold invested into its growth. Into its people. The guild wasn’t the strongest merchant guild in existence, but it was his creation. The manifestation of his years on this world, and the culmination of the desires of everyone under his banner. It was the path into the future that they had fought to claim.

“Is that a threat?” Tironal asked, his fist tightening. “I have done nothing but attempt to aid you. I was not responsible for the death of your apprentice. I do not mean to challenge the Setting Sun, but—”

“It is not a threat, Tironal. I have no plans of taking action against your guild,” the assassin said flatly. “That is not how I operate. You may feel threatened by my presence, but if I wished your guild to be destroyed, it would already be gone. I do not threaten you. There are simply other pathways to what I desire beyond relying on your incompetent men. If they accomplish what you cannot, then I will pay them rather than you. And I am a very, very wealthy man. I do not suspect a merchant guild will last long if one of its competitors suddenly becomes richer than it. Do you understand?”

Tironal swallowed. “Yes. I understand.”

“Good,” the assassin said.

Then he was gone.

Tironal slumped in his desk and ran his hands through his hair, letting out a groan. This wasn’t how he’d planned the move into Milten to go at all. Things had gone completely wrong at every single turn, but he couldn’t stop now. There was too much invested on their success.

If he wanted to keep the momentum the Ardent Guild had picked up and ensure they properly established themselves in Milten, had to find the Dungeon Heart — or someone who he could pin its loss on.

***

Twelve slipped into a dark alleyway, leaving the Ardent guild behind him as he strode to his next meeting. Tironal was worthless. Anyone with a spymaster of any true worth would have already located the Dungeon Heart.

The item was hardly lacking in power. If Twelve had been present with his true body, then it would have taken him mere minutes to track it down. Unfortunately, he had nowhere near the amount of time to spare sending his true form for what was, in the end, nothing more than a side mission.

Losing the Dungeon Heart was infuriating, but there were worse fates that could come to pass if he failed in his other duties. He had a duty to more than himself. The rest of the Setting Sun had tasks far more important than a magical item, even one as strong as this one.

Fortunately, Tironal is far from the only one with an active information network in Milten. His time has already come to an end.

Twelve came to a stop at the end of the alley. A woman clad in rags looked up at him through a mat of ragged, dirty hair. She held out a mug with a few small coins resting at its base.

“Alms?”

“You are not a church,” Twelve said. “Where is the your puppet master?”

The old woman’s lips split apart in a toothless grin and she lowered the mug. “You don’t look like a beggar to me. He did say he’s lookin’ to keep expanding and that he’d give bonuses for ‘ferrals, or something like that. That what you are?”

“A referral? Perhaps. I seek audience with him. Where can I find him?”

“He’s got contacts at the Devil’s Den,” the old woman replied. She clambered to her feet. “I’ll take you.”

“No, you will not. The name is sufficient.”

The woman’s brow furrowed. She took one look into Twelve’s eyes, then swallowed and wisely sank back into her spot on the floor. “Just tell ‘im that Magda sent you, yeah? I want my bonus.”

Twelve didn’t respond. He was already gone.

Chapter 259

Rodrick had a foot on the stairwell when he heard someone grab the inn’s doorhandle. It wasn’t Arwin. The large smith had a specific way of walking that was impossible to mistake.

Olive and Reya were outside and meant to be stopping anyone from heading inside while Ridley was working on upgrading the Devil’s Den. Lillia was still in her kitchen and neither Madiv nor Esmerelda moved like the visitor.

Rodrick glanced over his shoulder, a small frown crossing over his features. His hand shifted down to the sword at his side as the door creaked open and a man clad in black clothes stepped into the common room. His face was concealed by a metal mask and gray hair hung around his face. A guild badge sat on his chest — a single silver line.

The man’s eyes flicked to Rodrick instantly. He wasn’t so much as bothered by the darkness of the Devil’s Den. Rodrick’s eyes narrowed even further.

“Can I help you?” Rodrick asked, stepping off the stairs and getting to flat ground.

“Yes, I believe you can.” The man’s voice was like the whispering wind. Rodrick’s hair stood on end. There was something off about him. He couldn’t place what it was, but his instincts had yet to lead him wrong.

“I’m afraid it might have to wait,” Rodrick said with an easygoing laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “The inn is closed right now. We’re undergoing some construction right now. Maybe you’d like to come back in a few days?”

“My business is not with the inn,” the man replied. “I am looking for someone. Perhaps you can help me.”

“And who would that be?” Rodrick asked. He stepped around a table and approached the intruder, coming to a stop several feet away. There weren’t any visible weapons on the man’s body, but that didn’t mean he was armed. If anything, it only made Rodrick’s suspicion grow.

 Nobody walked around unarmed. When you couldn’t find someone’s weapons, it meant they were hidden — or already lodged in your back.

“A contact,” the man said. “Are you aware of a woman by the name of Magda?”

Rodrick’s head tilted to the side. Confusion mingled with his wariness. He’d long since memorized the names of everyone in his network. The closer he was with them, the better the information tended to be.

But what would Magda have to do with this guy? He’s no street beggar.

 “Let’s say I am,” Rodrick said. “What of it?”

“Then I believe I come bearing a referral in her name.” The man hooked his heel around the leg of a chair and pulled it out. He lowered himself into it and interlaced his fingers, placing his hands on top of the table.

 Rodrick’s eyes narrowed.

That’s not a coincidence. That’s the sign of a peaceful meeting that assassins use to show they’re only looking to speak and don’t want to fight. The books in the Inquisitor’s libraries were pretty clear that it was a common symbol among different guilds.

I need to get information, and that means playing along.

“What are you looking for?” Rodrick asked, walking over to the table and sitting down across from the assassin. He made no moves to interlace his fingers. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to help you, but I can hear you out.”

He couldn’t help but notice that the chopping noises coming from the kitchen had stopped. Lillia wasn’t cooking anymore. That set some of Rodrick’s concern at ease. She was aware of their unwelcome guest.

“You represent the information network.” The assassin didn’t phrase his words as a question.

“You might have to be clearer,” Rodrick said. He kept his tone even and measured his expression to ensure no information would slip through. It was inevitable that word would get out about the network — he hadn’t exactly tried to hide it. He’d basically left an open offer to every beggar and thief in Milten.  

But this was no mere thief, and Rodrick wasn’t about to give anything up until he knew what the man’s goals were.

“I do not have time for games. I seek to hire your network. I am not here to cause you harm or injury, but my patience is thin. Do not play games with me. If you are the one I seek, state it. If not, direct me to them. I will not ask twice.”

“I know what you’re looking for, but I’m just a go-between,” Rodrick said. “The Devil’s Den serves everyone. We don’t care who you are or what your goals are, and that includes some people who have desires to keep themselves hidden.”

“Then you can help me.”

“Possibly. I can hear you out. That’s all I’ll promise.”

“Acceptable. Then you can pass a message along,” the assassin said, leaning forward in his seat. “I am in search of an item, and I will pay handsomely for its retrieval. I have already drawn on the aid of the Ardent Guild, but they have proven to be incompetent.”

Rodrick tilted his head to the side. It took a force of will to keep himself from chuckling. The Ardent Guild’s network probably would have been more effective if half of their leads weren’t getting free food and drink from him.

“They are historically incompetent.”

“I had thought you may think as much. You are part of the Menagerie.” It was another statement.

“I am,” Rodrick confirmed. “What of it?”

“I make it a point to keep myself familiar with any new guilds that make it onto the Secret Eye’s ranking list.” The skin around the man’s eyes creased with what could have either been a smile or a sneer. “And yours is quite small. Stealing a first clear right out from under their noses is… impressive for a group your size.”

“I’ll pass your kind words along to our guild leader,” Rodrick said smoothly. The assassin was poking to see if his network and the Menagerie were one and the same, but he had no plans of revealing that information. “Are you here to hire the Menagerie or the network that runs from the inn? All we do is manage the space. We don’t care about what business is done here. We don’t mix the two up.”

“I see. Then I will cut to the point once more. You — the network for which you claim to pass information on to — I do not care which. I seek an item. If you can retrieve it for me, I will reward you greatly for it.”

“Well, I’m still not giving any promises, but what’s the item?” Rodrick asked.

 “It is called a Dungeon Heart. An object with an immense magical signature that resembles its namesake. It would be entirely useless to anyone within this city, but I have a desire to have it returned to me.”

Dungeon Heart? He can’t — no, he definitely does. The big creepy thing Arwin brought back and fused into his smithy. But… returned? That phrasing means it belonged to him in the first place.

Arwin’s spine prickled, but he didn’t let his posture or expression shift in the slightest. There was no doubt in his mind that the nameless assassin was watching his every move in search for recognition.

“What sort of reward would you be offering for something like this?” Rodrick asked.

“I will destroy the Ardent Guild and hand you the deed to the ruins of their guildhouse,” the assassin replied. “I trust that should be sufficient motivation for the Menagerie.”

“And for the information network?”

A flicker of displeasure passed through the assassin’s features. He’d been hoping Rodrick would slip up and reveal that their desires were one and the same — or perhaps he just wanted Rodrick to think that.

Damn mask. Can’t tell what this guy is thinking.

“They may name their price. I suspect I will be able to meet it, so long as it is reasonable. If it is not, I will be displeased.”

“I see,” Rodrick said. “Well, I’ll pass your offer along. What name do you go by and how can I find you?”

“You may call me Twelve. I will return in four days. Locate the heart by then if you wish any sort of reward — and I suggest you work quickly. You are not the only one to whom I have reached out.”

Yeah, but I bet we’re the only ones that actually have the thing you’re looking for. Not that I’m giving this guy shit. If he claimed to own the heart, then he’s got something to do with Jessen. He can kick sand.

“Good to know,” Rodrick said. “If I’ve got any information for you, I can pass it along when you return.”

“Very good.” Twelve rose from his seat. His hands dropped to his sides and he inclined his head. “Watch over yourself.”

Twelve’s body twisted into streamers of black smoke and flooded out the door. It was a threat, and not even a thinly veiled one. Rodrick waited silently for several moments, then carefully rose from his spot at the table and headed over to the door, closing it.

Well, now I know what the Ardent Guild has been searching for. This guy is trouble. I’m going to have to figure out what guild he’s from if I want to level the playing field a little more — and I need to warn Arwin to make sure nobody finds out about that damn heart.

Lillia stepped out of the kitchen, holding a large black pan in one hand and a kitchen knife in the other.

“What was that about?” she asked.

“How much did you overhear?”

“All of it but the start,” Lillia replied. “Is he—”

Rodrick nodded. “Yeah. We might be running out of time to relax. I trust you can tell he’s gone?”

“Yeah. I can feel the people in my inn and he’s not here anymore.”

“Good. Then we’ve got to start getting ready. The Ardent Guild’s network is crippled, but they’re big and have a lot of money. There are people smart enough to put two and two together with Jessen’s death and the fall of the Iron Hounds. It won’t be long until Twelve realizes that he’s just tried to hire the people that have his item.”

  “Do you know what guild he’s from?” Lillia asked.

“Not yet, but I plan on finding out.” Rodrick’s expression darkened and he looked back to the door. “And, in the meantime, we’re going to have to prepare ourselves. We better fill the others in and figure out how we plan to handle this. This might just be instinct talking, but I don’t think Twelve is someone we can deal with in the same way we’ve handled other threats.”

“I think you might be right,” Lillia said, a frown etching across her features. “But that doesn’t mean we’re without options. Figure out what guild he’s from. I’ll let Arwin know what’s going on. The Menagerie might be small, but we’re not helpless. Twelve is sorely mistaken if he thinks we’re just going to give up anything we won from putting that dog Jessen down.”