She turned to face the warrior and her face turned red. "Skharr DeathEater? Known as—"
The warrior raised a hand to interrupt her. "Merely Skharr will do. I would prefer to leave any other titles and monikers I might have in the past where they belong."
The youth narrowed his eyes. "You have more names? Unbelievable."
"Folk like to put their preferred titles on those they feel deserve it," he muttered.
"Do you call my son friend?" the woman interrupted before Brahgen could ask for more details.
Skharr nodded. "Aye. I've called him such in the presence of a goddess as well and I know better than to displease her by lying."
He could tell she wasn't entirely sure what to make of that statement, but she appeared to accept it, shrugged, and gestured for the guards to return to whatever duties they were required to do.
Once they were gone, a small tear trickled down her cheek as she wrapped the youth in another hug. "My son…you've become a man, and such a mighty one at that."
More members of the family began to show themselves and approached the group to greet Brahgen and congratulate him on his return. The barbarian inched back, reluctant to have to explain his presence to every one of them.
Even so, it was good to see that the young dwarf had received such a warm welcome to the home of his ancestors.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Brahgen had not been lying when he said the family had built a small city inside the city of Tuan—the name had only been told to him later but it came as no surprise.
Skharr had not missed the fact it was simply the dwarven word for city, which was an interesting commentary on how the dwarves viewed it. It was almost like the DeathEaters saw their clan as The Clan and having a name beyond that was rather superfluous.
He was escorted to a room that would be his for the duration of his stay, where he was told to prepare himself.
"A feast is being held," one of the dwarf guards noted. "Brahgen is being prepared as a guest of honor, and he said he would not attend without you there as well. It is not a common thing for a human to be present at our feasts."
He shrugged. "I've attended one before among the AnvilForged clans. I recall they are able to host a momentous occasion when it suits them."
The dwarf smirked. "Of course, AnvilForged are desperate for companionship and willing to let simply anyone join them. You will find our city's feasts to be something else entirely."
"You take considerable pride in being somehow better than your cousins in the north," he noted.
"That's because we are."
"In my experience, if you have to claim as much, you might be caught in a lie."
The guard narrowed his eyes. "Well, I suppose we shall have to see whether I tell the truth or not."
The barbarian winked. "We shall indeed."
The door was closed behind him and he paused for a moment to inspect the room.
It was nothing like the combination of wood and hay he had become used to at the Mermaid. In fact, the room was about the size of the common area of Verenvan's inn, with a hefty bed built into the stone and padded with down mattresses and blankets.
Either dwarves enjoyed having a great deal of space in their beds or this was a room reserved for when humans visited, as the bed was more than large enough to accommodate him.
There was a table, also made from stone although the chairs were made of wood. A jug of what smelled like watered wine and a couple of goblets, as well as a tray with fruits and snacks, were laid out for him.
All appeared to be freshly delivered as well. He wondered how long they had known that he was coming and how quickly they had been able to arrange the room.
Most notably, to his mind at least, was a large tub in the corner of the room. It was carved into the rock with seats inside and steaming water poured in to fill it. All that prevented the steam from collecting in the room was a small vent above it that appeared to suck it out.
In all probability, an entire intricate system had been laid through the entire building. He guessed there were likely similar systems to deliver water and remove steam from all the rooms in the building.
Skharr had no idea how they'd managed it, but they had clever minds for this kind of thing. Besides, he doubted that he would be able to decipher their systems even if their experts explained it for him in detail. Like magic, engineering was something he had no mind for.
After a moment to explore the large, square room as well as peek through the large windows that gave him an interesting view of the city with the sun setting over it, he realized that he needed to prepare himself. If Brahgen wanted him present for whatever this feast was, he didn't want to be late.
"Horse wouldn't want to miss this," he muttered and shook his head as he moved to where his pack had been placed.
Clothes for a real feast weren't the type of thing he liked to carry around, and the dwarves wouldn’t have anything that would fit him. It was an interesting conundrum but hopefully, they would appreciate his predicament and not judge him too harshly for his lack.
"And now you care about what dwarves think of your clothing." He shook his head and retrieved clean clothes from his pack. "You have come far, Skharr DeathEater, and fallen fucking far as well."
There was a time when he would appear in his common robes when invited to a feast like this, which then resulted in fewer invitations. He always told himself that he didn't care enough to impress others.
And now, the best he could produce was clothes that were clean. Before he put them on, he moved to the tub and discovered that a cloth and soap had been laid out for him as well.
He hurried his ablutions, even though the warm water tempted him to simply sit and soak for a while. The suds created by the soap floated and were soon drawn to where the water drained out slowly. He should have guessed that such a thing would happen, given that a steady stream of the warm water flowed in.
Once he was clean, Skharr climbed out again, dried himself roughly, and took a moment to comb his hair and beard before he looped the former in a rough ponytail with a leather strap.
Some lordlings liked to braid their hair and beards when they were expected to make official appearances, but he had no idea how to create those. It was why he always tied his hair out of his face, even if he went into battle.
He pulled his clothes on and smoothed the wrinkles carefully, annoyed that he put himself through so much effort to impress folk he didn't even know. Folk, he reminded himself, that he likely wouldn’t be around for very long.
The finest piece of clothing he carried was the belt presented to him by the emperor. Thick silver and gold threads were woven through it with scabbards for his sword and dagger, which had matching blades with snakes with emerald eyes on the pommels.
Perhaps that would be enough. Skharr shook his head and stepped out of his door where a guard already waited for him.
Or maybe still waited for him. He couldn’t recall if he’d seen her earlier. She didn't say a word and merely nodded for him to follow her.
The mansion was a godsbedammed maze that he would need a fair amount of time to learn to navigate. Thankfully, he was led swiftly through the winding hallways and staircases until they finally reached a massive feast hall created in the open. The sun had already disappeared below the horizon, which left only the light of hundreds of torches and dozens of braziers to illuminate a gathering of almost a hundred dwarves.