Broken Hate, Broken Heart - 7. Chapter 7

“No longer a master, good Thokk.” Gash swayed his head rather than shaking it. “Not for you.”

“Are you taking on a new apprentice?” Thokk asked. He had a vague feeling he should offer Gash something—a drink or at least a seat—but the old man had caught him completely off guard in his sparsely furnished new study within the court’s quarters.

“Ah, most likely, in a year or two. I’m still young enough.” Gash winked. “It’s a bit sparse in here, don’t you think?”

“Oh, well, yes, we were busy furnishing Korgar’s rooms and those of his bride…” Thokk made a vague gesture to the side and then rubbed his forehead again. Korgar might be as dumb as snail slime—and that was an insult to the delicious essence—but he had a good heart and wanted only the best for his bride.

“When is she arriving?”

“A few more days, maybe a week.” Thokk shrugged, and Gash nodded thoughtfully before pulling a small package out of his shoulder bag.

“This is for you. As… well, a farewell gift and to mark your new beginning.”

Surprised, Thokk blinked at him and accepted the small package. “Thanks, Mas—uh, Gash. This is…” He carefully set it down on his desk and unwrapped the protective layers. Inside was an oil lamp, complete with a high-quality hot stone and a bottle of scented oil. He ran his fingers admiringly over the delicate porcelain, which was glazed only in the oil dish and adorned with elegant swirls. A small tag hung from the little bottle, but before he could make out what it said, Gash explained:

“A blend for relaxation, so it’s more suited for your bedroom. I’m afraid you’ll be going to bed with headaches quite often during the first few weeks.” A note of concern resonated in his words.

“That’s very thoughtful of you. Thank you,” Thokk said sincerely, underlining his words with a slight bow. He had already received a high-quality quill made of engraved metal for passing his exams and really hadn’t expected yet another gift.

“And this is from Khartikk. He’s proud of you, you know—not many shamans these days take the time to learn smoke reading,” Gash added, as if Thokk hadn’t even thanked him, and pulled out a small pot. “Snail slime.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

A snort, half surprised and half amused, escaped Thokk. “Is this directed at my culinary interest or at my new master?”

“You can take your pick.” Gash winked. “But we both know Khartikk’s sense of humor, don’t we?”

“That’s certainly true.” Thokk allowed himself a grin, but his stomach clenched. After nudging Korgar in the right direction, he’d led him into the temple with Khartikk’s permission and read the smoke for him there. Well, actually, it had been more of a show than anything else. He’d blended the herbs so that someone unaccustomed to them would experience mild hallucinations. Korgar had been so impressed by this—along with Thokk’s words, which he’d made up on the spot—that he’d begged his teachers and his father to listen to the shaman’s apprentice. It had worked.

“I’m proud of you, Thokk,” Gash said, squeezing Thokk’s shoulder. “You have a tough time ahead of you, but I’m sure you’ll feel more at home in a court than in a fort or at a tithe bride selection.”

His guilty conscience made Thokk’s stomach cramp so badly that he grimaced. “Korgar is a good man.” He could tell from Gash’s expression that he expected the sentence to continue, but he didn’t know how to follow it up meaningfully.

“But he’s not the brightest,” Gash therefore said himself after a moment, and Thokk nodded slowly. “You’re a smart mind, though."

“Thanks, Gash. I just won’t have as much time for my studies as I’d like.”

Nodding gratefully and with a sincere smile, Thokk stepped out of the fine, freezing drizzle and under the smithy’s awning. Winter didn’t seem quite ready to give way out here, and the weather was absolutely unpleasant.

Very pleasant, on the other hand, was not only the warming embers of the forge, but also the sight of Henry. His face had become a little more angular, more mature; his eyes sparkled cheerfully.

“The rain is awful,” said Thokk with a shudder as he and Henry clasped each other’s wrists in greeting.

“The mud on the streets must be even worse,” Henry replied with a questioning undertone; the feel of his rough fingers on Thokk’s skin gave him goosebumps that had nothing to do with the cold.

“I would say ‘don’t ask,’ but that would be wrong.” Thokk ran his fingers through his hair and suppressed the urge to shiver.

“What do you mean by that?” Henry asked, then flinched. “Oh, wait, can I offer you some tea?”

“That… would be nice.” For a moment, Thokk watched admiringly as Henry took a teapot from a sort of warming stand near the forge and checked its contents before clearing his throat. “I passed my exams and am now part of a ruby court.”

“Congratulations.” Henry glanced over his shoulder with genuine joy.

“Thank you. My lord… he’s sending you an invitation.”

Henry paused, puzzled. “An… invitation? For what?” The steaming mug in his hand seemed to be forgotten.

Thokk pulled a leather pouch from his bag, took a scroll out of it, and held it out to Henry, his other hand extended to take the mug in exchange.

“What kind of invitation is this?” Henry repeated as he made the exchange, then eyed the document almost suspiciously.

“An invitation beneath the mountain,” Thokk replied. The mug in his hand was almost uncomfortably hot, and he didn’t like the look on Henry’s face. The scent of mint and something bitter wafting from the cup made his nose twitch.

With a deeply furrowed brow, Henry turned the scroll over in his hands without opening it, before—biting his lip—looking up. “You have to tell me what it says. I can’t read.”

Thokk’s mouth fell open. “…oh.” Not something he’d expected.

“I…” Blushing, Henry looked away again. “I can handle numbers a little. But I’ve never… it’s not really necessary, you know…”

“I wasn’t aware—I mean, your Elder Katharina—”

“The girls are taught because people are afraid they’ll otherwise be deemed… unsuitable as tithe brides or something. But boys…” Henry shrugged. “That’s up to the parents. My father can’t read either.” The last part came with a shy, almost apologetic smile.

Slowly, Thokk nodded and took a sip of tea, which burned with bitterness on his tongue. “Well, Ruby Lord Korgar invites you to come beneath the mountain. He likes your blacksmithing.”

Skeptically, Henry raised an eyebrow. “My blacksmithing?”

Grinning, Thokk shrugged. “I suppose he wasn’t listening to me properly. But that doesn’t change the invitation.”

“Yeah, but… What am I supposed to do there? Forge a knife for him on the spot?” Confused, Henry made a helpless gesture, and Thokk took another sip of tea.

“Learning.” He shrugged one shoulder. “As a craftsman beneath the mountain, you can learn from our blacksmiths and get to know our culture. I can teach you to read, if you’d like.”

Accordingly, his surprised gaze turned to Thokk. “Really?”

Thokk simply nodded. Suddenly, his stomach didn't like the tea anymore. Could Martin forbid his son from accepting the invitation? As father and son exchanged silent glances, his heart pounded hard against his ribs.

“My blacksmithing has impressed them,” Henry said in an exaggerated tone, and Martin snorted with amusement before turning back to Thokk.

“So my son has been invited to go under the mountain and be part of a court?” He wasn’t quite as clueless as he’d seemed, and Thokk nodded.

“Quite right. It’s an invitation, not an order to appear or anything like that—there’s no such thing. If Henry accepts, he’ll have a place in Korgar’s court, enjoy his protection and his patronage. And I assume our lady wouldn’t mind seeing a human face.”

“What do you mean by ‘patronage’?” Martin asked curiously.

“Very few ruby lords have their own smithy; only chieftains, warlords, or high-ranking advisors to the chieftains can actually afford one. Or, in general, their own master craftsmen, leatherworkers, tailors, or whatever. Craftsmen have to impress with their products and find buyers. A craftsman who belongs to a court has no such worries. His materials are paid for, his products are used by the court, and the necessary workshop is rented. Human craftsmen are introduced to the arts beneath the mountain.” With a smile, Thokk took another sip of his tea. It had cooled in the cold surroundings and now tasted even more bitter.

“So Henry would be completely taken care of?” Martin sounded almost suspicious.

“Yes.” Thokk tried to widen his smile, but his uncertainty about whether Henry would really come with him grew with every breath. “As long as he forges a sword—or an axe, or whatever Korgar happens to need at the moment—if Korgar is in the mood for it, everything is perfectly fine. He can expand his skills and knowledge in all sorts of directions.”

Martin nodded slowly, then went to pour himself a cup of tea.

Thokk and Henry—who was still turning the scroll over in his hands, clearly undecided—sat there in silence, waiting. The crackling in the forge suddenly seemed incredibly loud, and the sounds from the street, which Thokk had successfully blocked out until then, came back into focus. Thokk emptied his cup and scratched his chin. Henry avoided his gaze.

“Would you be interested, son?” Martin finally broke the silence.

Henry turned to face his father, his expression hidden from Thokk.

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” Martin added. “Many orcs don’t think much of human craftsmanship, especially when it comes to blacksmithing. But we have orc blood running through our veins, so maybe they’ll have some hope.” Surprisingly, Martin gave him a wink. “You could bring back a lot of knowledge.”