Page 68 of Blood Fist
Ridan released him, straightened his shirt, and then gestured to the market. “C’mon Foreigner, I’m hungry.”
They followed their noses to a nice beta couple selling seasoned meat on a stick. Ridan told him it was venison, and that made Brune sad. He loved the deer. But then he tasted it and decided he could appreciate thewhole deer.
Ridan knew many of the sellers, even the ones from other clans, and accepted their kind words about his mother with a terse grunt. Brune was content to follow him.
Merchants from the Strong Leg clan had all sorts of beautiful gems he’d never seen before. Their tables glittered in the late day sun. They looked expensive, and Brune was afraid to look for too long. Colorful bolts of cloth came from the Iron Jaw clan, shades Brune had only seen painted in the sky during a summer sunset brought to life in the soft fabrics. He hoped Oosa would come by and see them. She would create something glorious from them.
But it was a seller from Windy Cliff that made him pause. His metal work rivaled that of Derry’s. He had an array of things spread out on a dark fur.
“Can I interest you in a fine bracelet, sir?” the sellercalled to him, picking up a lovely bracelet made of twisted wire until it resembled a flower and vines wrapping around the wrist. “This would be the perfect courting gift for your special omega.”
Brune felt his face heat at the insinuation. The man was glancing between him and Ridan—who was luckily standing out of earshot, examining a pelt in another shop. Brune tried to straighten his tongue out so he could correct the poor mistaken seller when his eyes caught on something in the back.
Laid against what looked like the man’s sleeping roll was a hammer. Twice the size of Derry’s forge hammer, the hilt was made of burnished wood, lacquered over with a black stain so that it depended on where the sun was hitting to discern the true color. The head of the hammer was flat and smooth, back tapering into a lethal point.
Unlike the jewelry and other metal craft, there was no refinement or filigree on the hammer. It was simple. Understated, letting its lethality speak for itself. Brune’s fingers twitched, desperate to wrap around the hilt. To feel the grooves that he justknewwould fit perfectly.
“Ah.” The seller noticed Brune’s attention. “A fine eye, sir, a fine eye.” He trundled to the back and hefted the hammer, spinning it so it was hilt first. Brune licked his lips, hesitating for a moment. His fingers slipped around the shaft, slipping into the grooves the craftsman had ground into it. The weight settled perfectly, pulling on his muscles in just the right way.
Stepping back, Brune gave it a few test swings. It sang through the air.
“Windy Cliff metal doesn’t break,” Ridan said from a couple of steps away. His arms were crossed, an unreadable expression on his face.
“It’s—” he began, but Ridan cut him off, looking over his shoulder at the merchant.
“He’ll give you a Snap Jaw pelt, four teeth, and a fox fur.”
The merchant dropped his attention from Brune to Ridan, beginning to haggle. He knew he should step in—it was his purchase, after all—but he couldn’t stop touching the hammer. Running his fingers over the smooth wood and hefty metal. He couldn’t even see the joins, as if the hammer was made from one piece.
Their voices raised, neither willing to back down. Perhaps it was a good thing Brune wasn’t the one haggling—he would have paid the man anything he asked.
They finally settled on a price Brune thought was more than fair. It was most of what he’d brought to trade, but it was well worth it. With a proper weapon, he could do more. Perhaps even win some coin in a fight.
He settled the hammer in his belt as they walked away. Ridan’s shoulders were hunched. “I’m sorry,” he grumbled, biting his cheeks. “Shouldn’t have stepped in on your trade.”
That surprised Brune. “Why? You clearly know more than I do, and you got a great price.”
Ridan stopped walking; chin tipped up so he could look at Brune’s face. “You’re not offended?”
“By getting a good deal? I’m foreign, not dumb, Ridan.”
That seemed to mollify the blonde. He looked away, shifting on his feet. He seemed confused, but his scent was light. Pleased. The murmur of the crowd was loud—sellers calling out, haggling, and food cooking—but he thought he heard Ridanpurring.
Ridan looked almost as surprised as he was.Stepping back, he twisted his face as he got ready to shout something when the sound of screams cut through the crowd. The screams grew louder and louder, coming from the opposite direction of the fighting ring. Brune drew his new hammer, ready to sling the shield off his back when he heard the loud whoosh of flames crawling up a tent.
It crashed in front of them; the flames hopping to the next one. The crowd turned, churning against them as parents screamed for their kids and warriors looked around in confusion. Had a hearth caught?
Ridan pulled his sword just as another tent went up a good distance from the first. An explosion followed, sending shrapnel across the market.
This was no hearth accident.
Through the gathering smoke sticking thick in his throat, he saw a lone figure with his hands outstretched. Fire leapt from his palms as he readied to throw it at them.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
FLAMING TYLOCKS
Heat licked up his side as another tent exploded in a fireball, splinters ricocheting through the smokey air. Ridan ducked his head, hissing as the debris slammed into his arm. His ears were ringing as he pulled himself to his knees, looking over the overturned table he’d hidden behind. Eyes watering, he tried to pick out anything useful through the chaos.