With a friendly farewell from the headmaster, a bemused Eric found himself slipping free of the collegium with a final glance back at the impressive-looking building that screamed higher place of learning.

  He was almost startled by Ivan’s sympathetic shoulder clasp. “I’m sorry, Eric. I was almost certain that what you sought was here. According to the rumors…” He shook his head and chuckled. “But rumors are just that, no? Still, you have mentioned having an interest in meeting dwarves, yes? It just so happens that I have a little business with one such individual who stops by town every two weeks. One reason why I make a point to visit on those days in particular.”

  Eric shrugged, shaking away his frustration with a grin, enjoying the feel of his boots against cobblestone roads, feeling like he was going back in time as he gazed upon colonial era shops and cottages. “It’s fine. Strange, though, because he definitely thought I was referring to a mystical key but it certainly wasn’t an egg—” He abruptly stiffened as an unexpected possibility occurred.

  What if a certain scholar a territory over hadn’t been thinking of classical keys at all?

  Before he could pursue that line of thought any further, Ivan had stopped before a shop window that immediately grabbed Eric’s full and undivided attention as he caught sight of highly articulated gauntlets and lamps radiating a cool blue light reflecting off recurved doubleshot crossbows, perfectly machined steel spear heads free of any blemish or flaw, exquisite looking sapphire jewelry, and silver music boxes filling the air with delightful melodies through a display window comprised of a single flawless and very modern looking pane of glass.

  Eric blinked. “Are you serious?”

  Those words earned a chuckle from his companion. “Impressive, aren’t they? The spear heads are made entirely of steel. Not just the edges forge-welded to a core of iron. It bears no nicks or scratches from hammer, anvil, or wire brush. They’re so symmetrical that it’s unnatural. And I’ve tested the steel. It’s razor sharp and, as much as it humbles me to admit, is of better quality than my hanger, a fine blade which definitely bears the marks of its maker.” He patted the hilt of his short saber. “Come on inside. Luigi Firebeard is always looking for new clients.”

  A bemused Eric did just that, the sounds of a bustling 18th century town quickly replaced by a concert-hall’s resonance as they opened the shop door, the air coming alive with an entire orchestra of sound from the handful of carefully arranged music boxes playing together in perfect harmony.

  Behind the bronze counter, Eric could just making out the short, squat man wearing a copper and brass magnifying googles as he tinkered with a box of silver and gold.

  At least until Ivan gave the counter that the dwarf was working on two firm taps.

  The shopkeeper jerked upright, jostling the table, though his massive arms and dexterous fingers didn’t let a single treasure fly.

  “Who the hell are you, and why are you in my—” He blinked, as if only in that moment collecting himself. “Ivan! As I live and breathe. It’s good to see you! And you brought a friend as well.” The dwarf’s impressive proboscis sniffed, his smile becoming a grimace as his eyes watered. “Stench of too many roses and winter snows. Fucking wonderful.”

  Eric blinked, nonplussed, before the dwarf laughed off his own words. “Never mind. Lady Simms just had to show off her newest perfume outside my bloody shop. So, my young friend who really shouldn’t be here, can I possibly interest you in an ever-lamp, fire gauntlet, or music box? How about the deadliest crossbows and the sharpest spears to be found anywhere? We have other treasures as well. But I see that you have the air of a hunter, just like my good friend Ivan! No need to tell me what game you hunt. Because no hunter worth his salt dares such a dangerous trade without the finest equipment, yes?”

  Eric couldn’t help but grin and nod at the thickly bearded dwarfs gregarious pitch, before stiffening as the dwarf’s patter truly sunk in.

  “Of course you’re only interested in the best!” Luigi, sporting a fine mail hauberk of his own over a thick linen tunic much like the ones on display, spread his arms as if to take in his entire shop, half the store filled with mannequins wearing armor, before filling the storefront with his booming laughter.

  “Welcome to my shop, man and mer, where you’ll find the finest spears and crossbows forged anywhere, not to mention the best quality plate armor in all the new world, and the supplest, finest mail hauberks that weight you down no more than a fur coat!”

  Eric froze at those words, cheeks blazing, but Luigi’s focus was immediately on Ivan who was gesturing for Eric to put down the crate he had been carrying, along with Ivan’s own.

  Luigi’s eyes lit up as he rubbed his hands together. “Ivan. Dear Ivan. Is that what I think it is?”

  Ivan, who perhaps hadn’t caught the byplay that Eric had, solemnly nodded. “It is. Portabello and Mistwort. Two full crates of each.”

  The dwarf’s eyes lit up with a fierce intensity as he hopped off his stool from across the counter and proceeded toward the door, bolting it shut as well as lowering what looked like quite modern blinders. “And tell me, friend Ivan… did you manage to acquire the other treasures?”

  His anxious querry became an breathless gasp, features breaking in a massive grin as Ivan solemnly opened a satchel revealing mushrooms radiating potent arcane energies just as rich as the treasures that the Enigmatics had been so hungry for, only these glowed like blazing emeralds whereas the others echoed with purple and silver fire.

  Luigi took a shuddering gasp. “These are everything you promised they’d be. Tell me you got the full half dozen, my dear friend.”

  Ivan grimly shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.” The air filled with a sudden desperate tension that had Eric clenching his fists before Luigi’s desperate countenance, his mind screaming with the sudden tension in the air, wondering how it had come to this, before Ivan winked.

  “I brought a full dozen.”

  The dwarf gasped. “Truly.”

  Luigi solemnly pulled out a carefully preserved planter on top of the portabellos in his crate. “Infused with my daughter’s tears. It will keep… if your fungiculturist is as talented as you claim her to be.”

  Luigi’s eyes widened. “I see.”

  “Indeed.”

  The dwarf’s excitement dampened. “Of course my king will authorize payment in full. You’ve more than completed our quest. Twice over. And he will pay you in gold for every cap. And for the secrets to raising them ourselves…” The dwarf sighed. “Is the hour really so late?”

  Ivan closed his eyes with the sudden strain he clearly felt. “The hour’s grown perilous. I feel the weight of dread upon me, even now. I sense a storm coming, even if I lack my mother’s gifts.” He flashed a rueful smile. “Truly, when we packed, we didn’t think we’d be returning. A dire threat we faced… resolved by miraculous intervention. Yet still, I feel the calm as a terrible weight.”

  The dwarf matched the man’s stare, before dipping his head. “You’re not the only one who feels it. Change is coming. Swift and terrible, though we’re not sure what, or when.” The dwarf cleared his throat. “Will you be seeking shelter with my people, then?”

  “Perhaps. It depends if the ships actually make it to port in the next few days. If so, I suspect the city states of Germany will be the perfect location to start anew.”

  The dwarf gave him a pitying look that Eric understood perfectly, even as he solemnly placed a pouch of coins before the man.

  Ivan took a quick glance, eyes widening before he tucked it under his tunic with only slightly trembling hands.

  “Six gold crowns and a letter of credit from our king… worth a full hundred. You’re a rich man, friend Ivan.” The dwarf flashed a sad smile. “Though I’m afraid your wished-for boat won’t be making an appearance.”

  Ivan froze at those words, gazing intently at eyes just as knowing as Agda’s when the fey mood struck her, saying only, “What do you know?”

  Luigi sighed. “Do you truly not know, Ivan?”

  Ivan froze, hands curling. “Why we get so few visitors save for the Long Island settlements? As if the new world was comprised of no more than a single trading town and a pair of farming villages barely getting by?

  The dwarf dipped his bearded head. “That’s exactly what I mean, friend Ivan. The only fresh faces I’ve seen are a handful of men in armor only slightly inferior to my own with the eyes of zealots… and I suspect they’ve been here at the abandoned fort nearby, all along.”

  Ivan froze, gazing at the dwarf before him, before slowly turning to catch Eric’s solemn gaze.

  “And my young friend and boon companion?”

  Luigi gave Eric a knowing smile. “A fine future son-in-law, I’m sure. But my guess is that he isn’t from these parts at all. Isn’t that right, my Sylvan friend?”

  Eric, heart hammering, solemnly nodded. “He’s right, Ivan. You’ll find it exceedingly tough to make it to Europe, no matter how hard you try.”

  Ivan blinked at those words, growing strangely still as his mind raced, now gazing at the pair of them in wide-eyed wonder. “Both of you, fey races.”

  Luigi snorted at that. “Hardly.”

  Ivan spoke over the dwarf’s mutterings. “The ship… the storm! Did my family even… but wait, no! Agda quickened with child. Our Emily is a living, breathing babe. This can’t be just a… I’m real!” The last Ivan said with his fists clenched, eyes wild with existential dread.

  “Of course you are, man. Calm yourself!” The dwarf snapped. “Who said anything about not being real? Of course we’re all real! We’re just trapped on real estate that’s a bit...smaller than might be ideal… but we get along well enough, don’t we? Good dwarven steel and gadgets to make our friends lives a bit easier, a bit more comfortable, and plenty of wheat, pork, venison, and mushrooms for my own people in turn. No need to trouble yourself, friend Ivan. We just need to accept that leaving familiar haunts ain’t quite as easy as one might like.”

  Eric, not being a complete idiot, knew an opening when he heard one.

  “But what if there was, in fact, a way?”

  Luigi’s gaze snapped around to meet Eric’s own. “And what way would that be, my young elven friend?”

  Eric blinked at this, still feeling his cheeks heat up past his grimace, trying to figure out why the crimson bearded dwarf before him looked so familiar. “That obvious, huh?”

  The shopkeeper nodded. “Roundears like yourself have a certain aroma of roses and ice that only narrow-nosed humans miss.”

  Eric’s mouth hung open, having no idea what to say to that.

  The dwarf snorted. “Never you mind that, boy. State your peace.”

  Eric shook away his discordant thoughts, a tiny part of him wondering if this was just Luigi, a merchant in the end, getting a leg up on the conversation about to commence. As if even he sensed things coming to a head. That thought filled Eric with a certain amount of relief. Unexpected vulnerabilities and clues to his nature that he might otherwise find troubling could be disregarded with the same sangfroid he’d use to discount all of a potential competitor’s patter.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Eric flashed his brightest smile, taking in the fine works of exquisite craftsmanship all around. Noting their flawless uniformity, obvious quality aside.

  He favored Luigi Firebeard with a knowing smile. “Machine-forged. Uniform assembly-line construction, no?”

  The dwarf froze, gazing at Eric for long moments, which told Eric all he needed to know.

  Eric’s smile grew. “The quality’s impressive. No doubt about it. I can tell just by looking at it. May I test it?”

  The scowling dwarf’s demeanor brightened. “By all means.”

  Eric nodded, feeling the uniform sottered steel links of the mail hauberks, beyond what any medieval or even Renaissance smith might forge. The uniformly constructed and perfectly symmetrical spear heads, several already fitted to local ashwood staves. A few test lunges at both hide target and the half rusted mail shirt of locally made wares told Eric exactly what he needed to know.

  “Feels pretty close to properly heat-treated 1095 steel. Not that that necessarily means anything to you, but this popped multiple iron links in the locally smithed shirt.”

  Surprisingly, this earned a snort. “Alright kid, you’ve proved your point. You’re from topside, and you’re damn right this high quality steel. It’s a silicon manganese spring steel alloy, and you’d better believe we give it the best heat treatment a good smith can! It will cut through 1060 wall hangers like butter, and will spring back even if you somehow manage to warp the boar spear head thirty degrees or more!”

  Eric gave the dwarf a look. “Okay, now you’re exaggerating. Properly made 1060 Is high quality shit. Not even Olszowy’s blades would cut through it like butter.”

  The dwarf blinked, before roaring with laughter. “The boy knows his blades. Fuckin’ relief!”

  “And you were here before things got interesting.”

  The dwarf stiffened, then dipped his head. “Perchance some of us were, yes.”

  Eric’s smile widened. “Like a too eager king preparing himself to claim the crown of the economic jewel of the new world, before Mother Earth pulled a doozy and trapped your king and a handful of other elites in a cocoon of shadow realms and mystery so thick—”

  Eric’s words died off as his instincts screamed warning, blinking before a glaring dwarf… now pointing a doubleshot crossbow right at Eric’s dense skull.

  “Luigi! This boy is a friend! No matter how foolish his tongue!” Ivan desperately hissed.

  Eric flushed with shame as well as terror before the furious looking dwarf, slowly bowing low.

  “This one sincerely apologizes for any offense his foolish words might have wrought.”

  The dwarf continued to glare… before lowering his crossbow. “Don’t you ever insult my king!”

  Eric flushed. “I apologize, friend Luigi. In my excitement… my tongue acted the fool. Pray forgive me.”

  The dwarf shook his head and cursed. “Hotblooded children. Wild hellions. No solemnity. No respect for tradition. Why do ascensions always rise with them?”

  Eric winced.

  The dwarf snorted, slamming his crossbow on the counter. “I’ll pretend you didn’t wag your tongue like a fool there...and you will never speak of King Orlin Ironthews with anything save reverence and respect. Understood, elf?”

  Eric winced. “It is, honorable Luigi. This foolish elf again apologizes for his… overenthusiasm.”

  The dwarf frowned. “Just how old are you anyway, boy?”

  Eric frowned. “Nineteen? Twenty, maybe? It’s been a crazy couple of—”

  “Wait! You reek of royal Sylvan blood and you’re not even thirty? You’re just a boy. Why are you even off your mother’s tit?”

  Eric gave the man a pointed look. “Because she’s the Winter Queen?”

  The dwarf froze, blinking in sudden confusion. “But that would mean… no. She fell to myth and legend centuries… but no. I saw her on set. Multiple times!”

  Eric’s eyes widened, lips curving in a surprised grin. “Little Lou! Fuck. No way! Shave off those wild mutton chops and that crazy beard and it’s you? Really? Snow White’s bodyguard in that remake Mother produced? Elonia loved working with you! You were like the best uncle. You never once gave her creepy vibes. And you were… fuck! Just how deep does the rabbit hole go?”

  The air filled with laughter, Luigi giving a bemused Eric a bear hug.

  “Now I know where I recognize you from, boy! Felt like a dream. Was a dream. Damn, I’m glad I didn’t fill you full o’ bolts! Now I know why!” His twinkling eyes filled with concern. “How’s your mother. Is she trapped as well? Your sister. Is everything okay?”

  Eric flashed his old acquaintance only now recognized a bemused smile. “Elonia’s fine. Has a kingdom of her own now. And don’t worry. I finally took your warning about ‘Call me Harvey’ Harveson seriously. I’m only sorry that I waited so long.”

  Luigi’s gaze filled with concern. “He hasn’t hurt her again, has he?”

  Eric flashed a bleak smile. “That would be quite hard for him to do now, considering that he decided to jump off the Tokyo Towers during our last world tour.”

  Luigi flashed a fierce smile. “I always knew that shithead was trouble. Glad to hear it, boy.”

  Eric smirked. “So am I. Elonia’s fine, hasn’t thought about him in years. As for our mother?” he sighed. “She’s already ascended. Just like in the legends. Only it was more like weeks ago, not two thousand years back. But we won’t even go there.”

  The dwarf blinked at that. “No kidding.”

  Eric solemnly shook his head. “Not one bit.”

  Luigi or Little Lou, who wasn’t really little at all, when accounting for his massive broad shoulders, though he looked great on film, tilted his head. “So… Contender?”

  Eric blinked, then nodded. “I am. How could you tell?”

  This earned a snort. “Your cocky demeanor when mouthing off about things that would earn any lesser asshole a bolt in their ass. But for a fellow prince… sure. Forgivable.” He chuckled. “Not that Orlin will hold too much against the son of our production company’s best patron! But best you try not to fumble any more diplomatic skill checks.”

  Eric winced. “Yeah… you got that right. Thanks for not putting me down like any other cocky blowhard.”

  Luigi snorted. “You always did manage to stick your foot deep in your mouth. I’m glad to see that much hasn’t changed.”

  Eric opened his mouth to vehemently disagree, before realizing that the appropriate response was to flash a sheepish smile and concede the point.

  He then turned to a dazed-looking Ivan, gazing at them both as if they were ghosts… or well-hidden agents and emissaries revealing themselves at last.

  The man gave a strained chuckle, politely bowing. “Hunter Ivan, who was once so much more in distant courts that don’t mean anything in this time and place, as you well know, my friend. I didn’t realize politics in the new world was every bit as convoluted as back home.”

  “Oh you got that right!” The dwarf declared with a booming laugh. “But we might just be in luck.”

  He turned to gaze intently at Eric. “I take it there is a path that leads to the surface that doesn’t wind us in endless circles or lead us right into the waiting maw of our enemies?”

  Eric nodded, opening his mouth, before pausing, gazing intently at the former character actor whose memories of a previous dreamlike life was only coming to the fore, perhaps, because of his exposure to Eric, even if Eric was now as weak as a kitten, compared to his state topside, and a single cocky comment could easily get him killed.

  “I… have a proposition. But if Orlin would be offended by the mere mention of how we got into this predicament, I fear my proposal will get me filled with more crossbow bolts than even your doubleshot is capable of firing.”

  Luigi huffed, mustaches blowing wide before staring Eric down. “Spill it, boy. Yer like extended family, now. I’ll smack you for being a fool… but no bolts for you, I promise.”

  Eric held the dwarf’s gaze for long moments, before revealing a golden flash that had the dwarf pale even as Ivan cursed with either wonder or horror.

  “Do you understand, my friend?”

  “Bloody hell, boy! Are you a fool? Show no one those prizes!” Luigi roared.

  Eric flashed a hard smile. “I’m saying nothing in the thick ether of this place, and you saw an echo off of my blood. Not the actual item. My arts are limited, extremely limited here. But those that resonate from my blood alone… that much I can show.”

  The dwarf blinked, brotherly gaze turning hard. “What you’re asking for, Eric…” The dwarf snorted. “Let me make you a counter proposal. One hundred pounds of gold and the eternal friendship of our clan, for that which you showed!”

  Eric flashed a sad smile. “Lord Song, a powerful Silver-Tier asshole with a tainted blaster that scares even me, rules topside, along with a band of battle mech-using assholes. All Bronze of Rank 10 or higher. And I’m already worth billions, my friend.” He held the dwarf’s surprised gaze. “Make no mistake, I plan on taking New York. But damn if I won’t make it utterly worth Orlin’s while.”

  He pointedly gazed around the room. “You said it yourself, my friend. Machine-forged steel. Assembly line capabilities. Limited food storage… and I’m guessing, limited coal and combustibles?”

  The dwarf stiffened at those words, his thick powerful arms crossing. “Eric…”

  Eric grinned. “What if I could grant you what you all want most in the world?”

  The dwarf snorted. “And that would be?”

  “Unlimited food. Access to self-replenishing stores of coal, magically malleable steel and… get this, my friend. Alutopaz. An aluminum topaz alloy several times stronger and lighter than well-tempered 5060 steel… that you can mold like clay, a single territory over, whereupon it will freeze to perfect temper and hardness the minute you leave the region and bring it to New York or any other territory!”

  His voice picked up with unmistakable enthusiasm. “And if you want to forge it according to your own tempering formulae and tables, no problem! You can shape it into bars or rods and it will retain its baseline properties, or I can grant you rights to build your own factory, right next to at least one of the Alutopaz mines. Hell, I’ll give your clan exclusive rights to half of them. And these are sweet fucking mines, believe you me!”

  Luigi’s expression flickered from bemusement to disbelief to outright awe. “Eric Silver! Are you serious right now, boy? The time for jests are over. If you’re pulling old Louie’s leg, tell me right now, and all’s forgiven. But if you’re bullshitting about something this serious… Orlin won’t forgive you. Not even Aurelia’s wayward pup!”

  Eric solemnly raised his hand. “Scout’s honor, Luigi. Me and Blue are tight. Tight enough that I’m a part shareholder of the Terran branch of their Savings and Loan association, which is overseeing all the territories I catch and release.”

  Luigi blinked in surprise at that. Eric quickly spoke on.

  “You want food? My sister’s territory is now home to millions of elves that might be as much dream as real, but are most definitely real enough to live, love, and grow the most abundant harvests you can imagine.”

  His eyes took on a steely intensity that had Luigi gazing at him with odd deference.

  “And if I can bring once lost territories to wondrous life… I promise you, Luigi. I’ll do my best to bring everyone back from this dream to life as well.”

  The dwarf froze, features paling. “I’m real,” he whispered, pinching his own skin. “Damn it, boy, I’m real!”

  Eric nodded. “I agree completely. And once I take over New York, you and your entire tribe will be real enough to take the ways right to the surface and explore a newly ascending world to your heart’s content. Or smith and level up your professions while letting Blue Corp sell your goods to the entire galactic market.”

  Luigi’s look of awed wonder froze to an emissary’s intent regard. “We’ll give Blue Federation 20% Commission… and an additional 5% earmarked for the prince who makes it all possible.”

  Eric snorted. “Seriously? We’re talking galactic access, Luigi. You know damn well that most local farmers and craftsmen only received 10%, maybe 20% of what the merchants buying their wares would get by the time they were done with transportation and markups, and that’s just on a continental scale. We’re talking half the galactic sector, and Blue Corp will split profits fifty-fifty!”

  Eric then threw out the clincher. “And you’re more than welcome to sell to the local market without any commission at all... if you think you can do better.”

  The dwarf’s eyes brightened… before he gave a rueful chuckle. “And just how many local Terrans will be able to afford our finest wares? How much will we pay in commissions transporting them to various cities across a fledgling world? When Blue Corp can efficiently ship our goods to multiple planetary markets where we’ll earn a bloody fortune, without any of them ever saturating?”

  Eric grinned. “Precisely.”

  “Unless, of course, we find another intergalactic mercantile organization… but the steely look on your face says that’s not happening for a few centuries at least.”

  Eric winked. “Blue Corp is always fair. You know that. Their reputation is built on it.”

  “And you have a vested interest in their profitability.”

  Eric chuckled. “Damn right I do. So, do you think Orlin will bite?”

  Luigi gave him a long, thoughtful look, fiery red mustache fluttering as he exhaled thoughtfully. “If you had any physical proof at all—by Grondor’s beard!”

  He lurched back before the tiny bone box Eric pulled out of his pocket, solemnly popping it open and smiling at the sight of the blazingly hot prize within. “So, what do you think about perpetual energy machines, my friend?”