Once in a Blue Rune: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Dwarf for Hire Book 2) by J. B. Garner

Author:J. B. Garner [Garner, J. B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-12-30T23:00:00+00:00

14

Not that I intended for things to go that far south for us. My worries at the gang of ratwere toughs aside, Bunny was with me and more importantly, I wasn’t the orphan Dwarf who had no concept of her true power anymore. I was a runecaster now, someone who had spent the last few months doing everything she could to master the ancestral magic flowing through her pen, well, when not running a beloved local business. Not a small number of those months was spent preparing for the next time someone wanted to make trouble in my life.

While I hadn’t been able to stop us from being kidnapped, those Garou had taken us by surprise. These guys had made the critical error of trying to intimidate us first, showing their hand so that we would be ready for them.

Mercutio fursploded as well as I slipped my hammer out of my bag. While he was still dwarfed by Bunny, he was undoubtedly the biggest of the rats I had seen, a hybrid of rat and man that stood a good six feet tall. His fur was black shot through with grey and his thin frame filled out with wiry, corded muscle. The Cheese N’ Crackers apron did detract from the dangerous beast image, though.

“You are welcome to try and shake the tree, cottontail,” he snarled as he dropped into guttural Truespeech. I had the distinct impression that his use of cottontail was a rather slanderous racial slur to Lapin Garou. “Just like we’re welcome to defend ourselves and our property. If you lose an ear or an eye in the process, that is simply unfortunate.”

Bunny growled, her raw animal aggression somewhat hindered by the ear that flopped cutely over one blazing red eye. “Are you threatening a Huntress in the course of her duties, Master Frizzoli?”

“I am simply a humble guildmaster protecting his business and apprentices,” the elder Frizzoli retorted, his claws gouging into the Bakelite. “So, are you going to leave, or shall we be forced to – “

I interrupted the whole back-and-forth, jockeying-for-dominance bit by slamming my hammer down onto the poor, abused countertop. While typically such an act would have made a nice, loud bang, backed by my rather impressive muscle, the glowing runeword I had inscribed along the top of the head amplified the impact of the blow tenfold. The surface broke into splinters of plastic as the head of the hammer drove into the counter up to the handle, letting out a thunderous crack.

For centuries, my ancestors had used their power over runes to craft the most powerful weapons, armor, and relics known by the Figment world. It was about time for me to carry on the family tradition. The word I had activated evoked memories of those past times, of the ringing of hammers both on the forge and on the battlefield, and the might of the Dwarven people, channeling that strength into my own implement. That wasn’t the only runeword I had laid on the thing, either.

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