Chapter 6

  The morning after Brakka had breathed fire, I found myself staring at my inventory, grappling with a problem I had never expected: too much success, and far too quickly. I pulled out my notebook to jot down my current status:

  Current Inventory - Day 31

  Fire-Belch Ale: 10 bottles (3 gold each = 30 gold)

  Dreamcap Ale (improved): 8 bottles (1g2s each = 9g6s)

  Dreamcap Ale (standard improved): 8 bottles (1g2s each = 9g6s)

  Dreamcap Ale (honeyflower): 8 bottles (1g3s each = 10g4s)

  Total value: 59 gold, 6 silver

  Days until Dulric: 14

  Sixty gold. More riches than most apprentice dwarves might see in a decade. It was enough to commission a proper workshop, purchase advanced equipment, perhaps even secure a small warehouse in the merchants' quarter. The issue, however, was not the money itself, but rather what came next.

  I had created something unique. And word was already spreading. Brakka had told half the Hall yesterday, and by this morning, three separate dwarves knocked at my curtain inquiring whether the rumours were true. If I had genuinely concocted ale that allowed one to breathe fire. I needed to take control of the narrative before it overwhelmed me.

  A knock interrupted my thoughts, not at my curtain, but rather a deliberate knock upon the stone wall beside it, formal and authoritative.

  "Enter," I called, already anticipating who it would be.

  Elder Grimda stepped through, alone this time. She settled onto my stool without waiting for an invitation, her amber beads clicking as she made herself comfortable.

  "Word spreads quickly, boy."

  "I've noticed."

  "The Elders have been discussing you. What you've created." She picked up one of the Fire-Belch bottles, observing it in the lamplight. "You’re still young; thirty years, barely out of the nursery by dwarf standards. Yet you’ve crafted something of value."

  I remained silent, knowing there was more to come.

  "Now, if you were of blood, we wouldn't even be having this conversation. A clan takes care of its own, and you'd have all the support you require. But you aren't of blood, and you’ll be leaving in ninety years." She gently set the bottle down. "So the Elders wish to ensure that everyone understands the arrangement."

  "What arrangement?"

  "You carry on brewing, selling your wares through merchants who visit here. The clan won’t interfere with your work or claim ownership. In exchange, whenever you make use of clan facilities beyond your alcove, you’ll pay a small tithe. For storage in the merchants' quarter, security for your goods, that sort of thing."

  That sounded much more reasonable than I'd feared. "How much?"

  "Ten percent of profits, but only on sales made through clan facilities. What you brew in your alcove and sell directly? That’s yours, free and clear. This is simply about whether you want to operate as a legitimate business in the merchants' quarter."

  "And if I decide to remain in my alcove?"

  Grimda shrugged. "Then you will brew there and handle the security yourself. But that will limit your growth, aye? You can't receive merchants in your alcove." She gestured at my cramped space. "Ten percent buys you peace of mind. The Elders would not look kindly on anyone attempting to cheat or rob a clan-endorsed brewer, foundling or not."

  I contemplated this. Ten percent for legitimacy, security, and access seemed entirely fair.

  "I accept. When do we make it official?"

  "After your sale to Dulric. No point in drafting papers until we ascertain this will function as a business." She rose, her joints cracking as she stood. "Elder Thulsa will handle the contracts when the time comes. For now, I just wanted to ensure you understood where you stood."

  "I appreciate the honesty."

  "Honesty is cheap, boy. Results are what count." She paused at my curtain. "And Gosdrunli? Don’t let anyone tell you that being a foundling means you’re worth less. You've created something that none of us old fools thought possible. That's worth more than blood."

  Once she departed, I sat in silence, feeling a warmth settle in my chest. Not quite acceptance. Not entirely belonging. But acknowledgment, at the very least.

  I retrieved my notebook and adjusted my calculations.

  Adjusted profit after 10% tithe: 53 gold, 5 silver

  That was still more than enough.

  A different kind of knock came at my curtain. This one was lighter, more energetic.

  "Gosdrunli? You in there?"

  Brakka pushed through before I could respond, his grin wide as if he'd found treasure. "You need to hear this. Nadra just told me. Apparently, there's a tavern keeper in the eastern halls offering two silver pieces to anyone who can prove they've drunk Fire-Belch Ale."

  "What?"

  "Aye! The rumours have spread that far already. He wants to stock it, but he doesn't believe it’s real. Thinks it’s just exaggerated nonsense. So he's offering coin to anyone who can demonstrate the effect."

  I stared at him. The eastern halls were three levels down and half a mile through the mountain. If word had reached that far in less than a day, it would be widespread throughout Durn-Kahl in a week.

  "That’s... actually good for business."

  "Better than good. It's free advertising!" Brakka's grin widened. "Which is why I’ve got a proposal. You give me, say, five bottles of Fire-Belch. I’ll visit every tavern and hall in Durn-Kahl and demonstrate. Prove it’s real. Get everyone talking."

  "And what do you get from this?"

  "The best three days of my life? Getting paid to breathe fire in taverns? Gosdrunli, I’d do this for free. But if you want to toss a few silver my way, I won’t complain."

  I considered it. Brakka as a living advertisement would spread awareness faster than any merchant could. He could create demand before Dulric even arrived, driving up the price in the process.

  "Five bottles," I replied slowly. "But you must follow rules. No one from the nursery. No children too young to handle the heat. And you stop immediately if anyone shows adverse effects."

  "Done!"

  "And you must emphasise that this is Clan Durn-Kahl brewing. My name, specifically. I don’t want any rumours suggesting this comes from some other source."

  "Gosdrunli of Clan Durn-Kahl, creator of Fire-Belch Ale." Brakka nodded seriously. "I’ll ensure everyone knows."

  "Take ten silver for your trouble. Buy drinks between demonstrations. Make friends with the tavern keepers."

  His eyes widened. "Ten silver? That’s generous."

  "It’s an investment. If this works, the price will go up."

  Brakka left, five bottles wrapped carefully in cloth and a jingling purse of coins. I watched him go, a mix of amusement and concern at the chaos I might have just unleashed. The subsequent three days passed in a whirlwind.

  I spent my mornings in the mines with Thorek, who oddly continued to complain less about my form. My afternoons were devoted to brewing another batch of Fire-Belch Ale. Ten more bottles, each one carefully measured and meticulously documented. The system appeared once more when I sealed the final bottle, awarding another 750 XP for the identical recipe. No bonus for innovation this time, just standard experience.

  Current Level: Journeyman Brewer (Level 5)

  Progress: 4950/25000 XP

  Evenings were spent testing my new Ingredient Analysis ability on everything I could gather. I analysed the cavern barley. The system revealed three distinct varieties growing in Durn-Kahl’s fields, each with slightly different starch contents and flavour profiles. I had been using them interchangeably; no wonder my batches varied slightly.

  I analysed the bitterleaf. It paired unexpectedly well with frost mint and silverroot, hinting at a cooling ale perfect for summer. I even analysed the water from the communal wells. Each well had different mineral contents, one perfect for delicate flavours, another enhanced bitterness, and a third had magical properties that could boost infusion work. By the third evening, I had six new recipe ideas sketched in my notebook. None were as dramatic as Fire-Belch Ale, but all were marketable.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  On the fourth day, Brakka returned.

  He stumbled through my curtain late in the afternoon, grinning and slightly intoxicated, with the scent of smoke and ale clinging to him.

  "It worked," he declared. "By the Mountain Fathers, it worked."

  I set down my mortar and pestle. "Tell me."

  "I started in the eastern halls like I planned. First tavern, the keeper was sceptical. So I drank a measure, belched flames, and the entire place went nuts. He bought two mugs for other guests immediately and paid me five silver just to demonstrate again."

  "Five silver?"

  "Aye! Then I moved on to the next tavern. Same outcome. By the time I reached the third place, word had spread ahead of me. They were waiting. Chanting my name. I felt like a bloody hero." He collapsed onto my spare stool, still grinning. "I went through all five bottles in three days. Must’ve demonstrated for... I don't know, fifty dwarves? Maybe more. Every one of them wanted to know where to buy it. I told them Merchant Dulric would have it next month, and to stay alert for it in the merchants' quarter."

  "Did anyone have any issues? Adverse reactions?"

  "One fellow coughed a bit, but I think it was just from drinking too fast. Everybody else seemed fine. Thorek even tried it."

  I straightened. "Thorek?"

  "Aye! He was in the Hall of Hammers while I was demonstrating. He didn’t say much afterwards, just nodded and walked off. But he drank it, and he breathed fire just like the rest of us." The image of six-hundred-year-old Thorek belching flames made me smile despite myself.

  "Did the rumours spread beyond Durn-Kahl?"

  "That's the best part." Brakka leaned in closer. "On my third day, I was in the Western Hall, right? And there were merchants there. Not Dulric, different ones altogether. They asked where they could buy wholesale. I told them to talk to you directly, but they’d need to wait until after Dulric had his contract fulfilled."

  "Dulric doesn’t have a contract."

  "He does now," Brakka cheerfully stated. "I made one up. Figured you'd want to reward the merchant who took a chance on you first."

  I regarded him, astonished. "You told other merchants that Dulric has exclusive rights?"

  "For the first month, aye. After that, you can sell to whomever you wish. But Dulric gets first dibs." He pulled a crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket. "Three different merchants gave me their names. Said to contact them after Dulric’s exclusive period ends."

  I took the paper from him, examining the three names, complete with clan affiliations, all from settlements within a week’s travel.

  "Brakka, you might have just made me very wealthy."

  "We're friends," he said simply. "What's the point of you getting rich if I can’t help?"

  After he departed, I sat alone with the merchant names, my mind alive with possibilities. This was happening faster than I had anticipated. What began as a simple attempt to prove myself had transformed into something grander. A business. A reputation. Perhaps even a future that didn’t lead to leaving Clan Durn-Kahl broke and alone.

  By the seventh day, the rumours had reached my alcove. I was grinding dreamcap mushrooms for another batch when I heard voices in the corridor. Not uncommon in the bustling apprentice quarters. But these voices were charged with excitement. Urgency.

  "...heard it from a merchant who just arrived..."

  "...humans and elves, can you even imagine..."

  "...the King himself is receiving them..."

  I set down my mortar and peered into the corridor. A small collection of younger dwarves congregated near the washing station, chattering over one another.

  "What’s happening?" I inquired.

  They looked my way, and one, a miner named Durak, explained, "There's a delegation at the Deep Court this morning. Humans and elves together, come to speak with King Duken Xarr himself." My intrigue peaked. The Deep Court was the heart of the mountain, where the Dwarf King held court. Durn-Kahl was merely one clan of many that swore fealty to the King. For a delegation to come directly to the Deep Court suggested something important was brewing.

  "What do they want?"

  "I can't say for certain," another dwarf chimed in. "But there’s chatter about the Valentrazi."

  A chill shot through me. I had heard of the Valentrazi. Everyone had. Outcasts particularly loathed, corrupted by their association with demons. Elves, humans, and dwarves who had betrayed their kind, twisted by dark magic into something unrecognisable.

  "An alliance?" I ventured, wary of the concept.

  "That's the rumour. Humans and elves wish for the dwarves to join them against the Valentrazi threat." Durak shrugged. "Could be nothing. Could be everything. The King hasn't made any proclamations yet." As the group dispersed, still engaged in spirited conversation, I returned to my alcove, though the excitement of grinding mushrooms had waned.

  An alliance of the three races. Against a common threat. It was an epic saga worthy of bards. The kind of tale that could alter destinies. And here I was, toiling away to brew ale. The contrast seemed absurd. Momentous events unfolding in the Deep Court while I fretted over fermentation times and market valuations.

  But my world was evolving too, just on a different path. The delegation would come and go. Kings and ambassadors would make their determinations. Life would continue.And when it did, people would still crave drink. They would still seek entertainment. They would still desire Fire-Belch Ale. With that in mind, I returned to my grinding with renewed determination.

  By the tenth day, I had everything meticulously arranged. Twenty bottles of Fire-Belch Ale, carefully placed in two wooden crates I had procured from the merchants' quarter. Twenty-four bottles of dreamcap ale, neatly tucked away in three additional crates. Every bottle bore my mark: a simple rune translating to "Gosdrunli" in the ancient tongue.

  I had also prepared samples, small vials of each brew, sealed with preservation runes, ready for Dulric’s evaluation before he committed to a purchase. My alcove resembled a warehouse rather than living quarters. Crates piled against walls, bottles shimmering in the lantern light, my notebook filled with pricing strategies and inventory logs.

  Final Inventory - Day 40

  Fire-Belch Ale: 20 bottles @ ? gold each = ?

  Dreamcap Ale (improved): 8 bottles @ 1g2s each = 9g6s

  Dreamcap Ale (standard improved): 8 bottles @ 1g2s each = 9g6s

  Dreamcap Ale (honeyflower): 8 bottles @ 1g3s each = 10g4s

  The question mark beside Fire-Belch Ale felt mocking. I knew its value per the system, three gold each. But was that merely a number? Would Dulric agree? Or would he deem it excessive?

  I sought advice, not about the system itself, that remained my secret, but regarding pricing overall, and what the market might bear.

  Two days before Dulric’s expected arrival, I found Elder Grimda in her workshop.

  "I have a question about pricing," I stated, settling onto the vacant stool.

  She glanced up from the enchanted stone she was engraving. "Let me guess. You’re wondering what to charge Dulric for the Fire-Belch?"

  "I know what the dreamcap variety should fetch. One gold per bottle feels fair, considering the improved quality. Yet the Fire-Belch is different. Completely new. I’m uncertain what’s reasonable."

  "What price did you have in mind?"

  "Three gold per bottle?"

  Grimda set down her tools, her brow furrowing in thought. "That’s steep, yet not unreasonable, considering its effects. Let me think...Novelty alone could fetch two gold, easily. Every fool dwarf in the kingdom will want to try it at least once. The magical infusion adds to its value, elevating it above just a mere parlour trick. And the craftsmanship seems solid, adequate containment runes, well-balanced flavours."

  "So three gold is fair then?"

  "Aye. Perhaps even conservative. You may be able to ask four and receive it, given the demand created by Brakka." She picked up her tools again. "But three gold is a good starting point. It allows Dulric a profit without feeling swindled, establishing you as a serious brewer rather than simply one who gouges prices."

  "And retail? What would a tavern charge?"

  "Five to six gold, at minimum. Possibly more if they market it as an experience rather than just another drink." She looked at me, a level gaze. "You possess something valuable, boy. Do not underprice yourself simply due to your age."

  After leaving her workshop, I felt more assured. Three gold was not merely a figure that the system provided; it was the validation from an elder with centuries of market experience.

  The following four days were marked by a controlled anxiety. Mornings spent in the mines, the afternoons spent checking and re-checking inventory, and evenings dedicated to using Ingredient Analysis for future recipe planning.

  Rumours about the delegation continued to swirl. The humans and elves remained at the Deep Court. No public announcements had surfaced. Some claimed the negotiations were flourishing. Others thought stalled. No one knew for sure. I tried to dismiss these worries. My concerns were smaller, much more immediate. Would Dulric arrive on time? Did he plan to buy in bulk? Would other merchants vie for my stock?

  On the fourteenth day, a runner arrived at the apprentice quarters, searching for me.

  "Gosdrunli? Merchant Dulric sent word. He has arrived and wishes to meet you. You are to bring samples to his stall in the merchants' quarter."

  I grabbed my sample vials and made my way down. The merchants’ quarter buzzed with the afternoon trade. Dozens of stalls filled the cavern, dwarves haggling over everything from tools to food to enchanted goods. I pushed through the throng, my heart pounding.

  Dulric’s stall was precisely where it had always been, near the eastern entrance. The merchant himself stood behind his counter, conversing with another dwarf who was unfamiliar to me. Upon noticing my approach, Dulric's expression shifted to one blending interest with amusement.

  "Gosdrunli. Heard you’ve been busy."

  I stopped in front of his stall, suddenly acutely aware of how much hinged upon this conversation.

  "I have product to sell, should you wish."

  "Interested?" Dulric chuckled. "Boy, I’ve been approached by three different tavern keepers eager to know if the rumours hold truth. If you’ve truly crafted ale that permits the drinker to breathe fire. One of them even offered double whatever I charge, just to stock it first."

  He leaned forward, his focus sharpening. "So yes, I’m very interested. The question is, how much do you currently have, and what will it cost?"

  I took out my sample vials, laying them on his counter.

  "Twenty bottles of Fire-Belch Ale. Twenty-four bottles of improved dreamcap ale across three varieties. I can supply more later, but this inventory is prepared for immediate sale."

  Dulric picked up the Fire-Belch sample, regarding it in the light. "And your asking price?"

  "Three gold per bottle for Fire-Belch. One gold apiece for the dreamcap varieties."

  "Three gold?" Dulric whistled low. "That's ambitious."

  "It’s fair. The magical infusion alone commands two gold's worth. The novelty contributes another. Plus, you’ve already mentioned that tavern keepers are keen to pay top coin for good quality."

  "Aye, they are," Dulric acknowledged, setting down the vial with consideration. "Three gold wholesale means retailing for five to six. That’s excellent profit, no lie. And the one gold for dreamcap each is indeed reasonable, especially after you addressed the infusion strength issues."

  He extended his hand. "Then we have a deal. Twenty bottles of Fire-Belch at three gold each, making sixty gold total. Also, twenty-four bottles of dreamcap at one gold each brings us to a total of eighty-four gold. I’ll send someone to fetch the goods tomorrow. Will you have them ready?"

  "They’re already crated and labelled. Prepared for transport."

  "Excellent." We shook hands. His grip was firm, marking the agreement of a merchant who had secured a notably profitable contract.

  "One more thing," Dulric added. "There's a merchant consortium taking shape. Five clans are pooling resources to forge trade routes throughout the kingdom. They’re perpetually in search of quality goods to stock. Should your Fire-Belch Ale perform as well as I anticipate, I’ll recommend you."

  A merchant consortium. Access to trade routes extending across multiple kingdoms. This sort of connection could elevate a small brewing company into a thriving business.

  "I would be grateful for that," I said, comprising my composure.

  "You’ve earned it, lad. Not many brewers your age craft something genuinely original. Most simply mimic the teachings of their masters." He turned his attention back to his ledger. "My associates will arrive tomorrow morning to collect. Be sure to have everything ready."

  Once Dulric dismissed me, I navigated through the merchants' quarter in a state of shock. Eighty-four gold. Exclusive contracts. Recommendations from a merchant consortium. Three months ago, I had been a failed miner possessing forty-two silver pieces and a singular dream. Now, I was a brewer with a potentially bright future. I held the copper ring, extracting it from beneath my shirt as I walked, cradling it in my palm. The metal warmed against my skin, smoothed by decades of handling.

  Whoever left me at those gates, whoever abandoned me to clan care, had given me little but this ring and the lingering question of my origins. But perhaps that was sufficient. Perhaps not knowing my past now gave me the freedom to craft my own future. And at this moment, I was climbing higher.

  A/N as always friends chapter 10 is already up on Patreon!

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