The Crafter's Dominion: A Dungeon Core Novel (Dungeon Crafting Book 5) Jonathan Brooks (books that read to you txt) 📖

after some particularly deadly battles and survive, though it was rare.  In those kinds of incidents, there was usually a replacement made for them because they were valuable members of their defense; to a Fifth-shield like Gerold, however, the loss of armor was dishonorable not only to themselves but to their family, and a replacement was never supplied to one so careless with something so precious.

“But I already said that it wasn’t my fault, and I made up for it by helping to defend Nurboldar with—”

“You know better than that, Gerry.  No one cares what you did afterwards, only that you lost your armor.  It’s one of the reasons you’re down here, as you know, because your family has disowned you to save what reputation they still have left.”  Jespin shook his head sadly.  “I don’t know how you even allowed that to happen, especially after all of the work I put into it.”

That was like a slap to Gerold’s face.  He already suspected that his family had done something like that, especially since no one had deigned to visit him since his incarceration.  It was actually a wonder that Jespin came to visit; the old Master Blacksmith had retired soon after he had created Gerold’s armor and battleaxe, due to slowly failing strength in his arms.  He wasn’t sick or anything, but age eventually did catch up to everyone – especially to those who’d already seen 500 to 600 winters.  Having already trained multiple Master Blacksmiths, Jespin’s legacy would live on as his knowledge was passed down.

“I’m…sorry, Master.  But it truly was not my fault, like I tried to explain to the Entrance Guards, as well to First-shield Parten.”  That had not been a pleasant experience.  Over half a day of interrogation while he was confined to a small room by Stonebrink Hall’s Shieldmen leader was a grueling affair he would prefer to forget.  Not only had he explained what happened to his armor (which he could tell wasn’t believed in the slightest), but he also had to reveal that Nurboldar had been essentially destroyed, 80% of the Shieldmen had been lost in the overwhelming undead monster attack on the village, and Second-shield Bregan had been killed in the defense.

He had tried to go into detail about Sandra and her dungeon, about what the Core had done to help those who survived the attack, and about the danger that was slowly ramping up…but he was largely ignored.

“None of that matters, since the only asset we had near the wasteland was Nurboldar.  With that lost to us, and with a dishonorable cur like you popping up, the world is slowly collapsing in on us,” First-shield Parten had said harshly.  “I don’t believe you anyway, since I can’t take much of what you say as the truth.  For now, you’ll be held in isolation until we can determine whether your claims about Nurboldar are true; even then, I’d personally hate to let one of your kind run about my domain.”

“One of your kind” had been particularly harsh, as it sounded as if the First-shield was comparing him to some hostile dungeon monster and not as a fellow Dwarf.  Gerold had known coming back might be difficult, but he hadn’t expected such vitriol and downright disgust at his presence.

After the interrogation, he had been placed in the cell he was currently inhabiting, waiting for days on end for something to happen.  He had yelled and beat at the stone-and-iron cell for hours, but no one had come to let him out or even talk to him.  No one until Master Blacksmith Jespin, at least.

“Why are you here?” Gerold asked curtly, before remembering who he was talking to.  “Not that I don’t appreciate your presence and willingness to talk to me, Master.  But I also thought that I was supposed to be here in isolation so that I couldn’t ‘spread lies with my dishonorable mouth.’  How did you get here?”

Master Jespin was silent for a few minutes as he stared intently at Gerold, who stared just as intently back.  He had always been a little intimidated by the Master Blacksmiths among them, because they were so far above him in respect, authority, and renown that they were practically immortalized in their fame.  For the entire Kingdom, at any one time, there were at most only about 20 Master Blacksmiths; very few Dwarves had the aptitude to become one, and fewer still met the requirements to do so – which themselves were shrouded in mystery.  With Gerold’s imprisonment, however, much of the intimidation had worn off, though he still tried to show as much respect to the Master as possible.

Finally, the older Dwarf spoke as he chuckled.  “There’s fire in that body of yours, yet.  That’s the same drive I saw when I agreed to craft your armor, you know; not everyone gets one of mine, after all,” he said, not at all modestly.  Which was entirely fair, because Jespin’s creations were some of the best – if not the best – that had been seen in half a generation.  That might also be why everyone was so disappointed that I had lost my armor.  “As for how I got here, well, there aren’t many things denied to a Master Blacksmith if they but ask.”

That was definitely true.  Every single member of their Kingdom would give up their lives to protect a Master Blacksmith; their metal-crafters were the only source of their Shieldmen’s armor, and if even one was killed, it would put a severe hamper on their front-line defense.

“Your question about why I’m here is a bit harder to answer.”  Jespin looked behind him and saw the low stone bench placed across from his cell. Without saying any more, the old Dwarf ambled slowly over to the seat and settled gratefully onto it with a long sigh.  “Ahhh, that’s much better.  These old bones sure do get annoying after a