The Pinnacle Warrior

“I won’t go lower than 2 gold and 50 silver.”

“But it’s just a set of gauntlets!”

“And if you want them, you’ll pay the price I’m giving you!”

“They’re not worth that, though!”

“And if I miss out on a sale, then it’s my own stupid fault, isn’t it? None of your concern.”

“But for even 1 gold you’re still sure to turn a good profit and I’m offering more than that!”

“That’s not the value of my work. I’m not fighting to keep a roof over my head, so I’m giving a good price for what I’ve made, not a ‘good price for a beginner.’”

The Smith refused to budge on his prices. Astrid was just the latest of a line of people who had approached, hoping to sway the man from his strict price. The gauntlets were obviously the best pieces on display in the market. Each finger articulated, the wrist was mobile, and the steel that formed the armor was good quality. The gauntlets also had obvious places where enchantments could be engraved, so they could stick with someone for a long time beyond just in the early and mid Bronze tier as superlative protective equipment. 

Astrid sighed and stepped back. “If you change your mind or decide you’re willing to adjust your price, would you give us enough time to react? Just a heads up so we can participate in the bidding?”

“I will not change my price. If you become able to afford my work, you can find me in Brilt, the only smith in town. Kurlnach’s my name.”

He said the words more as a dismissal than as anything positive, but Astrid couldn’t help but feel like he wasn’t wrong in acting that way. His work was head and shoulders above everyone else’s here. He must have been working in a smithy since long before he was able to get a Class, and now, he was just getting experience. 

Experience…

Astrid leaned forward. “We can help you get experience, if that’ll help adjust prices. Take you into the Dungeon and let you siphon off experience and gain levels faster.”

Kurlnach shook his head. “There’s no need. I’m still honing my Skills. There’s a Skill I want to get at my watershed and I’m going to practice more to make sure that I qualify for it. And, just for your understanding, for someone of my potential, I’ll be taken through other, higher tier Dungeons by even stronger delvers.”

Astrid shrugged. “I guess it was worth a try. Good luck. I might find myself in Brilt eventually, but I suspect you’ll keep your prices high even if I make good money.”

“I charge a fair price. Nothing more, nothing less.” 

Astrid strode away, her lips pursed. Those gauntlets… they were great. But it wasn’t to be. They didn’t have the funds to buy them, and even if they did, Astrid couldn’t in good conscience buy them when Muti had expressed interest in a couple other much more reasonably priced blades. Her swords were made of what Astrid would nearly term pig iron, and she only realized that as Muti had let Astrid hold one for a brief moment. The blades were cared for as if they were her children, and every centimeter showed evidence of the tender love they’d been treated with. 

And the metal was terrible. It was a testament to Muti’s skill and Skills that she hadn’t managed to chip the blades on bone or snap the swords in half. 

Now, though they weren’t paired, there were two ordinary if high quality swords that they could buy for just a little more than a single gold. They would make Muti that much more deadly, and would still leave the party with a gold left to spend on something smaller for Astrid. She stepped away from the stall, instead looking at the other stalls. Most of the actually valuable items had already been snapped up, only the most premium on display and the lowest value items still remained. Most delvers had come together with their party to decide what specifically they wanted to buy, then, with those goals in mind, they came to the market, found what they wanted, and bought it if they could. If they couldn’t, then they tried to find replacements or went for a loan. 

Muti, seeing that “the leader” wasn’t going to buy the painfully expensive gauntlets, grinned widely and darted off to the neighboring stall, where a Smith whose focus was weapons had set up a dozen blades and spears. At least, there had once been that many. Now, only five remained, among them the two short swords that Muti wanted. That there was another delver who wanted one of them was immaterial to the Barbarian, who reached out, took it out of the man’s hands, and then the other she wanted. 

The merchant’s eyes gleamed as she saw two interested parties, ready for a bidding war to ensue. He wasn’t prepared for a Barbarian, though.

“I’m willing to buy this for 60 silver instead of 50.” The other delver said, squaring his shoulders and putting out his hand for the sword. 

“I will break your hands if you desire what is mine. That which belongs to me is mine and you can pry it from my dead body.” Muti bared her teeth, golden hair still in its warbraid as her long, pointed ears twitched.

The delver looked at Astrid, a little fear and more confusion obvious in his eyes. She stepped forward alongside Muti and placed her hand on the Barbarian’s shoulder.

“Where she’s from, a price is set. If multiple people want to buy at the price, then they fight for it. Not to the death or anything, but to submission. If I’m not mistaken, you’ve watched our sparring sessions, haven’t you, Liam?”

“Yes.” He answered slowly. “But that doesn’t matter, does it?”

“Eh…” Astrid trailed off and made eye contact with her bloodbound companion. Muti’s eyes glowed as she got the faintest hint of possible approval from Astrid. She almost bounced where she stood as she turned towards Liam with her shoulders. She put the sword down on the table and rolled her shoulders.

“Maybe it doesn’t matter.” Astrid said. “Maybe you can pay extra and there won’t be any problems.”

She let the repetition of “maybe” hang in the air. Then, with a soft smile, she conceded, “I think we can be persuaded to pay 60 silver as well.”

Liam raised his hands and turned away. He muttered something about “giant wenches” as he left, but Astrid turned her same smile to the merchant.

“We spoke about buying both these swords for 1 gold earlier today. Now that we’re paying a bit extra, is 1 gold 10 silver alright with you?”

The man glanced between the two women, both towering over him, and put on a happy smile.

“I’m so glad we were able to come to an agreement. Please, allow me to prepare the scabbards.”

Astrid looked at the two swords as the merchant prepared them to be taken away. One was about 80 centimeters long with the handle, the blade straight and sharp on both sides. A very typical shortsword, though only really a shortsword by Astrid and Muti’s standards. The other was a short messer style sword with a single edge and a slight curve. The curved messer was significantly heavier than its new companion, even though it was a couple centimeters shorter as the blade was thicker and wider than the shortsword. As soon as they were both ready, Muti snatched them from the merchant’s hands and set about tying them to her belt. 

Paying for the blades, even though it was painfully expensive, brought a smile to Astrid’s face. Muti’s genuine excitement was enough to wash away the pain of leaving the gauntlets behind. They did have another gold to spend, if they wanted to spend it all, not counting the extra 4 silver that Skandr would be bringing—

“Astrid, in the inn now!” Anders’s shout cut through the bustle of the market. The tone was worried, not angry or frustrated, and Astrid’s heart fell. She didn’t hesitate to leave the coins clattering on the merchant’s table as she sprinted through the thinning crowd. Her shouts to get out of the way were heeded, and nobody was trampled by the fully armored Warrior and Rogue as they stormed through the doors. 

In the inn, Astrid saw the cause for Anders’s concern. A bruised and bloody Skandr lay, groaning on a table nearby the bar. As Astrid and Muti approached, so too did Orden. He lay a hand on Skandr’s shoulder and they watched as his bruises faded. His eyes fluttered open, and blood from burst vessels in his left eye made him look positively monstrous. Astrid glared at Anders and demanded, “What happened? And beyond that, how did this happen?”

“Whoever did this knew that Klara was out of the inn for most of today. Otherwise, anyone with half a brain would be able to tell that they would have ended up as a smear on the ground. Skandr came and exchanged materials. After he left, Maria and I locked the room and went to work on some of the specifics of budgeting required when the merchants come. He was waylaid somewhere outside of the room but within the inn. We have checked, and his purse is missing.”

“You didn’t hear him? You somehow missed an assault inside the inn?” Astrid’s voice was incredulous, and Anders shrugged. 

“When locked, the door is enchanted. It is nearly impossible for sound to pass through it. I’m sorry.” Despite always looking professional and put together, the Scribe truly did look apologetic.

Shifting tack, she asked, “And who knew that Klara had left?”

“Other than myself, I really couldn’t say. She comes and goes at times and in ways that are nearly impossible to track. Do know that, even though we have very few leads, we will take every step necessary to ascertain who the guilty party is.”

“And they should pray that the Duchess gives them a good enough fortune to be found by you instead of by us. I guarantee and swear that I will take more than a kilogram of flesh in recompense.” Astrid looked around, making eye contact as she growled the words.

“While I am obligated to tell you to allow the guild and the law to do what they should, I will say that I wish you luck and will turn my gaze to the other side when you lay your hands on them. I wonder if you would prefer that Klara finds them instead though…” He trailed off, a faint hint of a bloodthirsty smile tickling at the corner of his mouth.

“I will return blood for blood myself, I do not need your assistance.” Muti’s voice rumbled with a rage that Astrid had never heard. “ I will pursue victory and blood, I will not be stopped by pain, death, numbers, or force. I will spill the blood and taste the suffering of those who think themselves capable of ambushing my people. I will rip and shred and cut and bleed until this has been righted.”

A part of Astrid thought to calm or to soften the blows of Muti’s words, but she decided against it. Instead, she stood beside the enraged Barbarian as she silently lent her own support to the words that had been spoken. She glared around the room to find anyone who could have had a grudge against the party or Skandr in particular. The party of three brothers was the first that she laid eyes on, and a part of her instinctively wanted to lash out at them and accuse them.

Instead, she barely managed to lunch out and grab Muti by the neck as the Barbarian went to lunge ahead at the same party that Astrid had just internally accused.

“Release me! Even if they are not responsible, they will know something! I will wring the blood from their flesh, and with it will come the truth.”

“If they are willing to provide the truth to us,” Astrid said, “ then we will use that information accordingly. However, I am confident they are too cowardly to have attempted something here. Even while in the Dungeon, they have never been willing to put themselves at risk.”

“Mmm, you are correct.” Muti’s face twisted in anger, but she turned her attention to the rest of the delvers in the room. She was ready to make the next accusation when support came.

“You’ll have our assistance in the search as well.” Marcus declared. “I won’t stand for any cowards who would ambush and rob one of ours. If we manage to catch them ourselves, I will personally ensure that they are turned over to you.”

“Okay Marcus, that’s far enough! I get you wanna climb the almost Barbarian, but it’s too far to trust one of our people to the brightheads so-called justice. There is a reason that they are called Barbarians after all!”

Astrid vaguely recognized the voice as grumbles of agreement went up, but Marcus immediately knew who it was. He jumped on a stool, pointed at the man who had spoken from behind others, and gestured for him to come forward.

“All right then, Findlay, you wanna run your mouth? Come out here and see what happens.”

The man who stepped forward was one of those who occasionally harassed Astrid and her party as they left the Dungeon. Taller, maybe even as tall as Savraba, with a couple jagged scars across his face. Muti hissed as she saw the signs of wounds there, and Astrid immediately understood there was something going on here that she did not understand.

“I am willing to see what you’ll do for those monsters. I’ll say it for everyone’s benefit: I spent less than five minutes under the thumb of one of the Barbarian raiders and I keep these markings,” he pointed to his face, “to remind me of the slavers and brutes that they are. Most of us are willing to allow that one to stick around here because she isn’t wanted by her own people, but don’t think I don’t know how they torture their prisoners.”

The momentum that Marcus and Astrid had been building in the room immediately died. Worried whispers about what Muti could and would do filled the area, and Astrid pursed her lips. Findlay continued, “Your boy got jumped. That’s a damn shame. Delvers shouldn’t be doing it, and we need to make sure it doesn’t happen again. I think we all agree with that. But he was weak enough to lose a fight and now we’re talking about killing someone for it?”

“You are responsible!” Muti accused, but Astrid pulled her back again. She didn’t feel like he was responsible, though she could so easily be wrong. It really just felt like he hated Barbarians. The part of Astrid that had consciously forgotten about the beginning of her Papa’s life suddenly wondered what scars he might have had. How would they have been removed? Could he still feel the Barbarians’ knives cut his flesh? What depredations had he suffered at their hands? Despite herself, Astrid felt her grip tighten to what might be considered painful on Muti’s wrist. The Rogue stepped back, though she didn’t seem to mind the action taken.

“The Barbarian throws accusations wildly, doesn’t she?” Findlay’s scoffing was as bitter and hot as boiling vinegar. “I came in just before you. He’d been laying in his own blood for a while when he was found, so I have an alibi.”

“I’m not going to talk about your past.” Astrid jumped in. “It has no bearing on the conversation. Reality is, someone here decided to attack and rob my party member, and I, just like every one of you, won’t let this go. I’ll repeat, whoever you are, you’d better pray and hope that someone more merciful than we are is who finds you. Because we, just like every one of you, don’t take kindly to people harming our friends. And you, Findlay, can’t pretend that you’d happily let someone who did that to one of yours walk away without you getting your vengeance in.”

The man scoffed as he turned to walk away, and Markus met Astrid’s eyes.

“I meant what I said, we’re on your side. However you need us, we’re there. Right?”

Bogdan bowed while Kaya and Antoni nodded and muttered something about making sure that they didn’t get away with this. Astrid didn’t listen closely as Skandr blinked slowly.

“I… don’t like… being the target.”

“You are the only one soft enough to be targeted. Now, you will join us in practicing.” Muti responded.

Skandr only groaned as Astrid and Muti picked him up and carried the mostly healed man to his room. Orden said that he’d recover quickly enough, and that was enough of a solace for the two women to keep from running out and killing anyone. 

Yet. Because that time would come.