Blood Magic by Bobbi Schemerhorn

Author:Bobbi Schemerhorn [Schemerhorn, Bobbi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: High fantasy, milieu, epic, magic, action and adventure, mythological creatures, ebook, stories, book, series, dwarves, elves, fairies, novel, journey, quest, mission, comradely, companion, comrade, D&D, sword play, bow and arrows, sacrifice, delivery, burden, duty, promise, redemption, atonement, acceptance
Publisher: Bobbi Schemerhorn
Published: 2020-04-26T17:57:44+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Enya stomped down the creaky stairs to the tavern below. It was dark and musty. The smell of moldy hay filled her nose, mixed with body sweat and burnt oil. She went to take a seat at the bar when she put a hand on her belt and felt the hilt of the knife from the road bandits. She stepped up to the barkeep.

“Where’s your metal worker?”

He gave her a quick look and tossed the filthy towel he was cleaning glasses with over his shoulder. He leaned on the bar and stared at her long and hard.

“Did you not hear me? Your metal worker, where can I find him?”

“What’s a pretty little thing like you want with a smith?” He smiled showing all his rotten teeth.

Enya smiled, softened her face, and leaned in to him, leading with her breasts. His eyes widened at the sight of her cleavage. She grabbed the collar of his shirt and with a swift motion yanked him down, slamming his face into the bar. She put her other hand on the back of his neck and leaned in further. “Blacksmith?”

“Out the door to the left. You can’t miss the sign.”

“Thank you.” She patted him on the head. Before straightening, she nabbed a bottle from behind the bar and left the tavern. She cleaned the top of the bottle with the bottom of her shirt and took a long swig. “Bah,” she said with a sour face. “I hate rum.” Instead of tossing it she took another long swig from it. It took five minutes to get to the blacksmith and the rum was already working its way through her system. With no food to temper the alcohol she found herself quickly becoming inebriated.

She stopped in front of the smith’s door, drank the last of the rum, and tossed the bottle over her shoulder. Wiping her mouth on her sleeve she staggered into the shop. It was at least thirty degrees hotter inside than outside. There was a large beast of a man working the forge. He was pumping air into it to stoke the flame hotter. He didn’t notice her until he turned around holding a bright red piece of metal. He placed it on the anvil and started hammering it.

“What do you want?” he shouted over his rhythmic pounding.

“I have answers,” she said, slurring her words.

“What?” He stopped his work briefly to take her in. “You’re drunk. The brothel is down the street.”

Enya blinked several times and shook her head. She staggered toward him and stopped a couple feet away. “I have questions,” she said.

“Do you now?”

“I do.”

“Well, I don’t answer questions. If you have some work to be done, then we can talk. Otherwise, get the fuck out.”

Enya slammed the dagger down on the anvil the smith had just removed his own work from. “This yours?”

He put what he was working on aside to look at the knife. He studied it carefully, moving further into the light to get a better look. “Not mine.

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