Ultimate Level 1

Multiple chairs had been pulled up in a circle, and Dagon sat in his chair, slightly larger than the rest and was downing his fourth tankard of his private brew.

He could taste the difference, having tried Batrire’s father’s. Unlike all the other alcohol he had consumed, this one didn’t leave any kind of aftertaste and was smoother than water.

Next to Fowl, his parents both sat there, his father now awake, neither having said a word.

Grondir was bouncing his knee nervously, stuck between his mother and the king.

“Are you two ever going to talk?” Batrire asked, eyes focused on the weaponsmiths. “I mean, are you even going to acknowledge that he is sitting before you?”

“I am well aware of who is before me,” Fowl’s mother replied, her tone sounding haughty and unimpressed. “Regardless of what he has accomplished in the tower, our… Fowl chose to leave the family business, forsaking the history we have carried for generations. Doing so is an affront to our line and to Ockrim.”

“That’s a load of ogre shite!” Batrire shot back, almost rising from her chair. “He’s been offered the highest position by your king, and you still can’t see that Ockrim must be pleased with what he has done!”

“And yet he isn’t one of the King’s Guard,” Greeta Hammerfall replied. “Perhaps if he was, then I could admit something good came from his choice.”

“Forget it,” Fowl said, cutting off their healer as she started to respond. “She’s not worth it. I… I finally see that I don’t need her approval anymore.”

His mother leaned back, shaking her head as if she had been slapped and then snorted.

“See! He doesn’t—”

“Quiet!”

Dagon’s command cut off the very words in her throat, making the woman choke.

Shifting in his seat, the king sat up and set his tankard down on a side table, eyes moving between the pair.

“Do you really wish to lose a son that I think so highly of that I would offer him a position in my Guard? How can you be so… stubborn like a mule that you cannot see how much Ockrim must love him?”

Fowl’s father started to open his mouth, but as the very first sound began to come from his lips, Greeta turned, and whatever look she gave him silenced him.

“Gods, Dad, aren’t you ever going to grow a pair?”

“Grondir Hammerfall!”

Fowl’s mother started to rise and then stopped as Dragon started to roar with laughter.

“Oh, my boy! Perhaps you should join my guard if you have a pair as large as you must to face down this woman!”

Max watched Greeta’s face turn red as the king’s had just a while ago.

“Who do you thi—”

“I’m the king,” growled Dagon as he stood up, towering over the shorter dwarf. “Now sit down and shut up, or I’ll have my guards remove you from here.”

A snicker came from their healer, and Max could sense a grin on Tanila’s face.

I’m beginning to like him. That mother, though… Perhaps it is a good thing that she isn’t married to Tanila’s father. Imagine the life that would bring.

Unable to hold back any longer, Max started to chuckle and then laughed louder.

Everyone turned to see him holding a side and shaking his head.

“Is something funny?” Fowl asked.

“Yes! What happened to all the stuff I hear about dwarves and how family is everything? I mean… the king tried to bully you and Batrire into joining his Guard and leaving us, no offense, sir.”

A single hand wave was all Dagon gave.

“Now your mother couldn’t see the truth even when the very dwarf she claims could prove your value has already told her how great you are. I’m not certain she would even admit you were worthy of her love or anything else if Ockrim himself came and told her you were.”

“Bah! Who do you think you are?!”

Fowl’s mother gave him a gaze that might have turned him to stone had she possessed those powers.

“I’m Max Hoste. I’m the guy who entrusts his life to those two,” he replied, eyes locked on the woman who had called him out. “Don’t mind me, as I already know we’re going to defeat the tower, and soon your son will be one of the greatest dwarves in your people’s entire history on this world.”

“Bah, he’ll die like the rest of you fools! Not even—”

Max held out a token between his fingers, and every dwarf in the room turned toward it as one. Like a magnet and metal, none of them could take their eyes off of it.

“Greeta Hammerfall. I’ve met Ockrim. He is very proud of your son! So before you dare anger your god by speaking bad of the one he has given many great skills and a pair of balls so large, ogres are jealous, take the stick out of your arse, and see who stands before you.”

“Where… how… you…”

Dagon’s words were broken, his mouth hanging open, unable to close, and his hand stretched out toward the token in Max’s hand.

“He and I spoke, along with Phaius. He gave me this in case I needed to prove to you that what I ask comes with his blessing. It appears it works better than I expected.”

“Do you even know what that is? Please… put it away or give it to me before I can’t stop myself.”

Max frowned but nodded, storing the token and watching every dwarf around him almost take a collective sigh and shake their head.

“It calls to me… like a siren,” Fowl muttered.

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Clearing his throat, Dagon nodded, taking a second before his voice seemed to work.

“Please… keep that hidden, but now I see that things are well beyond what I had expected or even imagined.”

Rising to his feet, the King of the Dwarves moved to where Max was and held out his hand.

“I pledge to help you and your team as much as possible within reason to accomplish the task Ockrim has given. That token… will you sell it?”

Frowning, Max shook his head.

“I still have need for it. Perhaps down the road I might be willing, but there is another dwarf on another world I will have to show this to.”

“Another world?” Grondir asked, almost falling out of his chair as the younger dwarf leaned forward. “Has… has Fowl been to a different one?”

Shaking his head again, Max winced.

“Not yet, but soon. Still, there is a lot I think we need to discuss, perhaps in private, and we could probably use another round of drinks.”

Dagon nodded and snapped his fingers.

“Everyone out. Including you three,” the king said as he pointed at the Hammerfalls. “We’ll have a discussion later, and you can decide how grown up some of you want to be.”

“Forgive us,” Fowl’s father said quietly.

“Do not ask for my forgiveness. Perhaps instead, you should ask your son for his.”

Turning, the leader of the dwarves moved to where the cask of ale was, leaving the group in an awkward moment.

“Uh… sorry, son.”

Fowl took a few quick breaths and stood, inching slightly toward the man he called dad.

“It’s okay. I’ve just missed you.”

The man moved quickly, and in a moment both men were hugging, a few sobs coming from the pair.

Grondir didn’t wait more than ten seconds before he joined the duo and was enveloped in their arms.

After a minute, the three turned to look at Greeta, who was frowning, sitting in her chair and glaring at them.

“Gods, woman, Ockrim himself! Get off your fat arse, and give this boy a hug, or so help me I will not allow you to forge another weapon in our shop!”

“You wouldn’t,” she gasped, eyes going wide.

“Our king is right… I have let you control my manhood for too long… It was your words that made me issue that decision against our son. I never wanted him to leave but also knew he didn’t love the forge. For a year we have lived without him, and every day it left an ache in my heart.”

Orstein turned and rubbed his hand on Fowl’s head.

“Our son is home, Greeta! He is a tower climber, blessed by our god and wanted by our king! What more could you want?!”

She huffed and didn’t move, lips clenched tight.

“It’s okay, Dad,” Fowl said after a moment. “Knowing you will acknowledge me is more than you can believe.”

Grunting, his father turned and nodded.

“Give me time. Perhaps she is like a piece of cracked ore and needs a far longer time than all the rest to be made into something that is usable.”

Chuckling, the trio of Hammerfall men all ignored the glare that was given to them by Greeta.

A throat cleared, and everyone turned to see Dagon returning with two fists full of tankards.

“Now that at least some of the mood has changed, I need for you all to leave. It appears that I must have a moment of privacy with these five and see what it is I can do to assist in their serving of our god.”

***

Max watched as Dagon stroked his beard with his left hand.

“Never would I have even considered allowing someone other than dwarves to enter the tower past the 50th floor, but I cannot argue with what you hold. Still… do you realize the predicament you put me in?”

“Worried about setting a precedent?”

Frowning, the king nodded.

“Part of me wonders if perhaps I am wrong for doing so. Many adventurers come here for the tower, but we all know that there are fewer humans and elves here than in Peltagow. I know many won’t ever attempt to reach the 50th floor, yet I could do more to make it attractive to humans and maybe a few more elves to come.”

“I’m not trying to be ugly, but my own people don’t seem to want to come here, and I don’t think it’s your fault,” Cordellia stated.

Nodding, the king grinned.

“Still… I can do more. As such I will inform my people that you five are allowed in any part of the tower you desire. Now then, tell me the news about the wedding you two are planning.”

Max was grinning, and yet before he could say thank you, Batrire was on her feet and headed toward Dagon.

“I have a list, and these are the things I was planning on doing, but if you think you might be able to help with them…”

“Oh, he’s in trouble,” Tanila whispered as they watched Dagon’s eyes widen as their healer put sheet after sheet of paper before the king’s eyes, each one with details on the perfect wedding.

“Uh… a parade of goats? Pulling the wedding party?”

“YES!” Batrire exclaimed, doing a twirl, clutching her papers close. “Can you see it?! It’s just like the story of Gruomda and her wedding!”

A groan came from Fowl, who winced, mouthing I’m sorry at the king, who gave him a pained smile back.

“This is a lot of flowers,” Dagon stated as he cleared his throat. “I mean… are you certain you would need—”

Batrire gave him a look that would have caused any dwarven father to sell his weapon to buy their daughter a present they wanted. Two big brown eyes seemed to shake as her bottom lip came out, pressed into the perfect pouting position.

“But… surely Ockrim wants me to have the wedding that will showcase those he has chosen.”

Tanila snickered, and their healer ignored her, eyes locked on the one who had the power to make all this happen.

“I… I’m not saying I can do all this but…” With a sigh, he hung his head in defeat. “Who am I to say no to a woman I tried to force from her family? Very well, I’ll give these things to my advisors. How long do we have till this wedding takes place?”

A loud whoop came from their healer as she rushed forward, obviously forgetting who she gave a quick hug, turning beet red after pulling back from the embrace.

“Uh… forgive me. A month?”

“A month is good,” Dagon said as he adjusted his tunic she had just crushed. “Anything else?”

“I have one last request,” Max said as he scooted forward in his chair

“So much for my special status,” Fowl mumbled.

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