The Crafter_Legacy by Outspan Foster

Author:Outspan Foster [Foster, Outspan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: scifi, fantasy, litrpg, taran matharu, blaise corvin, andrew seiple, young adult, GameLit, YA
Published: 2019-06-18T22:00:00+00:00

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Obadiah Graves sat in his chair, elbows on his knees and fingers in a steeple as he contemplated the two children standing before him.

The chair was wooden. He could have chosen a more comfortable seat for all of his meetings, but he liked the disquieting creak it made whenever he shifted his weight. Except for the dim torchlight in the middle of the walls, the room was dark, especially the corners.

To his left in the corner stood bald-headed Berrma. She was still as the walls and blended neatly in the dark. The woman was petite, only two heads taller than the boy with the spade.

It only took the greenhair kid a few seconds to notice the woman. Sharp eyes, that kid. He called himself Scout after ousting the top dog in their pack. It was no wonder why fifty other little street rats followed his commands.

Little boy Scout was out of breath. It was only a single flight of stairs down into Graves' den, but the walk seemed to have taken the wind out of his sails. How a kid like him managed to find Graves' location and send a message through one of his men for a meeting put a pebble in Graves' boots. Even if all it took was a strong gust to blow Scout away, the boy was sharp in every way that mattered.

As usual, Rax's reports were spot on.

The kid standing behind Scout didn't look in Berrma's direction. It was as if he didn't see the woman, but Graves could tell when someone was purposely ignoring something. The charcoal-haired boy hid the knowledge well, but Graves knew the stage-trick to do it better. Rax had books and Graves had people.

This one was the Wick kid. And if Rax's report about him was to be believed, then Wick had a contract with a mountain bat with an old man's face. He also had a combat veteran's expertise with a low level skill at eleven years old. Maybe the kid was a dropout from the Skillia. Rax was never wrong, but Graves had a difficult time swallowing the story.

Obadiah said they didn't need protection from two small boys, but Rax insisted on Berrma's presence. If they did anything suspicious, the woman would snap them in half like she had done with countless others.

Still, seeing the kid hiding his knowledge of Berrma blending in with the shadows was like crab soup in Graves' stomach. Seafood never sat well with him. Graves stopped himself from reflexively looking over his right shoulder.

Behind him at the foot of a small table sat Rax, scribbling away in that damned book he was always carrying. The sound of the pen scratching against thick paper filled the tense silence as the small boys waited for Graves to speak.

Like the creaking of his chair, the darkly lit damp room, and the appearance of no guards besides the scribe, the scratching was just another way to make visitors more uncomfortable.

Berrma broke the bodies and Rax made the plans while Graves' craft was a bit more nuanced.

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