Chapter Five: The Broken Hammer
The kingdom of Veyra's Reach rose from the forest like a scar upon the land.
Stone walls, thirty feet high, circled the city in a perfect ring. Guard towers jutted at intervals, banners snapping in the wind. Beyond the gates, Kael could see tiled rooftops stacked tight, smoke rising from chimneys, and the distant spire of a cathedral piercing the sky.
Kael pulled the hood of his cloak lower. His sword was hidden, his eyes shadowed. Even so, he felt exposed as he approached the gate.
Two guards in chainmail leaned lazily on spears. One squinted at him. "Business in Veyra?"
Kael kept his voice level. "Trade. Hides and pelts. Looking to sell."
The guard eyed the wolf pelt across Kael's shoulders, then snorted. "Fine. Don't cause trouble." He waved him through with barely a second glance.
Kael exhaled slowly as he passed beneath the portcullis, Umbra padding silently behind him.
The streets of Veyra were a crush of noise and stench. Merchants hawked wares from stalls, the smell of spiced meat mixing with horse dung. Beggars muttered from alleyways, children darted through the crowds, and priests in white robes raised voices above the din, warning of sin and damnation.
Kael kept to the edges, Umbra's hulking form drawing wary stares but no challenge. To the humans, he was merely a cloaked hunter with a loyal beast.
He listened more than he spoke. In taverns, he heard talk of rising taxes, of soldiers conscripting men for wars against border tribes, of merchants grumbling about tariffs. Always discontent beneath the noise.
But Kael was not here for politics. Not yet. He needed a craftsman.
And he found him in the gutter.
It was near dusk when Kael turned into a quieter street, away from the market noise. There, slumped against a tavern wall, sat a dwarf. His beard was tangled, his once-proud clothes stained with ale and mud. An empty flask dangled from his hand.
He muttered to himself, words thick with slur. "Hammer's gone… forge's gone… bah… let 'em choke on their own steel…"
Kael paused. Even beneath the stench of drink and despair, he recognized the calluses on the dwarf's hands, the faint tattoos on his wrists—marks of a guild craftsman.
He crouched. "You were a smith."
The dwarf squinted up, bleary eyes narrowing. "Eh? What's it to you, boy? You lookin' to mock? Got plenty o' that from yer kind already." He spat, the glob missing Kael's boot by inches.
"I'm not here to mock," Kael said quietly. "I'm here because I need one."
The dwarf barked a laugh, bitter and broken. "A smith? You and every fat lord in this piss-stained city. But I ain't their smith no more. No forge, no family, no bloody guild crest. Just a hammerless drunk."
Kael studied him. "What happened?"
The dwarf glared, then looked away. "Humans happened. Took my forge when I wouldn't sell for half its worth. Took my wife when she couldn't stomach the gutter. Took my son when he starved. That's what happened."
His voice cracked, anger and grief spilling into the street. He sagged back against the wall, muttering curses into his beard.
Kael felt a sharp pull in his chest. This dwarf was shattered, but not useless. Not broken beyond repair. He was like the goblins—cast aside, left to rot by the world of kings and lords.
And Kael knew exactly what to say.
"I don't offer pity," he said firmly. "I offer purpose. A forge. Students who will learn from you. A chance to make something greater than any guild hall or human city will ever allow."
The dwarf snorted without looking up. "Bah. Pretty words. Where would I even go? The forest? To teach tree stumps how to hammer nails?"
Kael's lips curved faintly. "Not stumps. Goblins."
That got the dwarf's attention. His head snapped up, eyes blazing. "Goblins?!" He spat again, this time with real venom. "Vermin! The only thing they know how to do with a hammer is bash skulls. And you want me to—"
"Teach them," Kael cut in, his tone sharp. "Because they listen. Because they work. Because they want to be more than vermin. And because you are like them—betrayed by the world of men. Cast aside. Forgotten."
The dwarf froze. His bleary eyes searched Kael's, as though trying to see past the shadows of the hood.
"Who… who are you?" he whispered.
Kael held his gaze. "Someone building a nation for those the world has forsaken. Come with me, and you'll never be forgotten again."
The dwarf stared at Kael, ale-stained beard trembling, eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Nation of goblins… nonsense."
Kael didn't flinch. "Not nonsense. Truth. They were broken when I found them. Hunted by men, scattered, without hope. But in days, they've changed. They fight together, not as rabble. They learn our tongue. They craft spears, bows, hides worth selling. They are not vermin—they are people who have been denied the chance to become more."
The dwarf grunted, unconvinced, but Kael pressed on.
"You think goblins cannot learn. But so did everyone else. They said they were beasts. Now, they speak to me in clear words, and they fight in ranks with discipline. All they needed was someone who believed they could be more."
The dwarf shifted, muttering, "And what of you, eh? What's in it for you, boy? Why risk yer neck for goblins?"
Kael's voice lowered, steady as stone. "Because I know what it is to lose everything. My home. My family. Burned, slaughtered by those who feared what I was. I survived alone. But I swore I would never be alone again. That no one else cast aside would be left to rot."
Silence fell between them. The noise of the street faded as if the world itself listened.
The dwarf finally looked away, staring at the cobbles. His lips twitched beneath his beard. "Bah. You sound like a bloody priest. But…" His voice cracked slightly. "It's been years since anyone asked me for more than a coin's worth o' labor. Years since anyone saw me as more than a drunk. And you… you say goblins would listen?"
"They already do," Kael said simply. "But they need a smith. A teacher. Without you, their spears will stay wood and bone. With you, they can forge iron."
The dwarf exhaled, long and ragged. "Damn it." He slammed the empty flask to the ground, the clatter echoing. "Fine. I'll come. But I'm not doin' this out o' charity. If yer vision's real, I'll see it with my own eyes. If not—" He jabbed a stubby finger at Kael. "I'll be gone."
Kael's lips curved faintly. "That's all I ask."
The next day, Kael sold the goblins' goods in the market.
The furs were thick, well-tanned, the pelts of direwolves drawing particular attention. Merchants haggled eagerly, offering silver for bundles of hides, smoked meat, and crude but sturdy weapons. By midday, Kael's purse was heavy.
With the dwarf's guidance—he called himself Durgan Stonehand—Kael purchased a set of stable tools: hammers of varying size, tongs, chisels, a portable anvil, bellows, and packs of coal and iron ore. Durgan's hands trembled as he ran them across the steel, as though touching a memory.
"A proper hammer again," he muttered. His eyes were wet, though he hid it behind a scowl. "Been too bloody long."
Kael paid without hesitation. Enough silver remained for travel and provisions. His people would see that their work had bought more than food—they had bought a future.
By sunset, Kael, Umbra, and Durgan left Veyra's gates. The guards barely spared them a glance. The dwarf trudged at Kael's side, packs of tools strapped across his back, grumbling but steady.
"Yer a strange one, boy," Durgan said. "Could've spent that coin on weapons, armor, even ale. But no. Tools. For goblins."
Kael's eyes flicked to the horizon. "Tools make weapons. Weapons win battles. But more than that—tools build. We're not just surviving. We're creating."
Durgan harrumphed. "We'll see if the vermin can be taught."
Before Kael could reply, Umbra growled low, ears pricked.
Figures stepped from the brush, blocking the road. A half-dozen men, rough-clad and armed with rusted blades, their faces hidden beneath scarves. Bandits.
"Well, well," one sneered. "A lone traveler with a fine cloak, a fat purse, and a beast worth a fortune. Hand it over, and maybe we'll let you live."
Durgan sighed, muttering, "Bloody typical."
Kael stepped forward, his hood still low, his voice cold. "Walk away. Now."
The bandits laughed. "Or what?"
Kael lifted his hand. Black fire surged, swirling in his palm like living shadow. Umbra bared his fangs, golden eyes glowing as a growl shook the earth itself.
The bandits froze. Their laughter died in their throats.
Kael's voice was iron. "Or you will not walk away at all."
Umbra loosed a howl, deep and thunderous, the sound of a predator promising death. Flames burst higher in Kael's hand, casting the road in red-black light.
Panic seized the bandits. "Demon!" one shrieked. "Monster!" They broke, fleeing into the trees, tripping over one another in their scramble to escape.
Kael let the fire die, lowering his hand. Umbra growled once more, then fell silent.
Beside him, Durgan stared, eyes wide. He opened his mouth, closed it, then finally muttered, "Hells below… ye really aren't just talk, are ye?"
Kael pulled his hood lower, his voice steady. "I told you. I am building something greater. And nothing will stop me."
Durgan swallowed hard, then gave a slow nod. "Aye. Then maybe… just maybe… ye'll get this old hammer swingin' again."
Together, they turned from the road, the dark forest waiting ahead—the path back to the goblins, and the future rising with them.