21 – Tesh – Anger over Armor
“I want to speak to Master Iron‑Root right now!” Elder Thuldren pounds on the doors of the main building, each strike echoing through the courtyard. His voice carries like a hammer blow. Brannik stands beside him, arms folded, silent, watchful, patient.
The doors open. Master Brenna fills the doorway, posture calm, beard neatly braided, expression politely neutral. “Is there something you require?” she asks, voice warm. “I thought your chapel was self‑sufficient.”
Thuldren’s face is red
with rage. “You know why I’m here. You’re undermining my teachings. You’re
violating your school’s own codes.”
Brenna widens her eyes in
practiced surprise. “What do you mean? We are doing exactly what we are
supposed to do. Our apprentices are crafting items. Practicing their trades.
What else do you imagine we are doing?”
“Don’t play games with
me!” he shouts. “Those loyal to the Clans have told me you are making armor for
goblins. Using dwarf steel. Using dwarf methods. Making armor for our enemies.”
Master Brenna strokes her beard thoughtfully. “I don’t know what you are accusing us of. Yes, our smiths are practicing armor‑making — a Guild‑sanctioned trade. Yes, we are teaching them traditional goblin patterns — which we are allowed to do under the founding charter of this school.” She tilts her head slightly. “We are not selling them. We are not trading them. There is no market. And we have no Protectors or Peacekeepers to give them to. So, I confess, Elder Thuldren, I am confused. On what grounds are you complaining?”
She lets the silence stretch, then adds with a gentle smile: “And you still have your chapel. Dwarf students who wish to attend your Purity Lessons are free to do so.”
She pauses again. “Oh — and thank you for providing them with additional nutrition. Some of them have been sharing their bounty with their classmates. That is very generous of you.”
Thuldren falters. Just for a moment. He opens his mouth, closes it, then turns sharply and storms back toward the Chapel.
Brenna begins to close the door. The soft voice of Brannik drifts up to her — quiet, almost pleasant. “You play a dangerous game, Master Brenna Iron‑Root. Watch that Durn’s Silent Hammers don’t strike you in the darkness. Blessings of Durn upon you.”
Brenna’s hand pauses on the doorframe. Her smile never changes. But her eyes harden. She closes the door.
Tesh watches from the hall, heart pounding. He isn’t alone — several apprentices have crept forward, drawn by the shouting and the heavy pounding on the doors. When Master Brenna turns, they all freeze. She sees them immediately. “Return to your duties,” she says, calm but firmly. “The Elder was simply lodging a complaint. Nothing more. Back to work.”
The apprentices scatter,
whispering as they go. Tesh returns to his loom, weaving the shuttle through
the growing sheet of spider‑silk cloth. Garin works beside him on the second
loom, his movements slower than usual.
Garin glances over.
“Maybe I should stop going to Chapel.”
Tesh shrugs without
looking up. “That’s up to you.” He pulls the shuttle through another line.
“Nibin and I like the food you share. But you don’t have to keep going if you
don’t want to.”
Garin hesitates. “Hearing
Elder Thuldren yell at Master Brenna like that… it felt wrong.”
He shivers. “Worse is
Brannik. He’s all smiles and smooth talk, but he always watches. And have you
heard him speak Mishikwe? He does it without an accent. Almost like he’s from
Deep‑deep.”
Tesh turns, eyes wide.
“That’s creepy. Mosek still has a dwarf accent, and he’s lived in the
Deep‑deep.”
Nibin enters, a paper of
measurements in hand. He walks up to the looms. “How much longer until the next
piece of fabric is done?”
“Soon,” they both answer.
Nibin turns directly to
Garin. “I’m thankful for the food you’ve shared. But if you don’t want to hear
the ugly talk from the Chapel, stay with us. Share Ember‑spark here.”
Garin looks at them — not just classmates, but friends. He smiles, small but real. “Okay. Tomorrow, I’ll stay here. You’re right. I’d rather have wet, mushy mushroom bread with people I trust than a full meal with people I don’t.”
Across the room, both fiber masters watch the three boys quietly. Master Shii nods once, satisfied. “They have learned well,” he murmurs.
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