Viking Rune Smith 1 by Michael-Scott Earle

Author:Michael-Scott Earle [Earle, Michael-Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Michael-Scott Earle
Published: 2021-06-20T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

“Good afternoon, my chief,” Brokkr said with a nod as I approached the wooden table. Then he offered the same gesture to Anakol. “Prick.”

“Slave,” Anakol sneered.

“Blacksmith,” Brokkr corrected, and I glanced between the two men as my warlord’s sneer dropped into a hard line.

The blacksmith didn’t bother grinning or glowering as he held Anakol’s gaze like he was looking straight through him, and when I saw the braided man’s eyes narrow menacingly, I walked between him and the table to get a look at the four newest swords.

Brokkr had managed to replicate the design we’d decided on with little variance, and the long, dual-edged blades ended with a slight curve and three jagged cuts. He’d decided to elongate the tip so it would end in a thinner, more piercing point, and the warped cross guard wasn’t overdone at all, so the completed design came off as sturdy with clean lines and a mean undertone.

I could tell the jagged end had caught my warlord’s gaze too, but he only offered a reluctant nod of approval while he kept his dark eyes roving over the vicious design.

“These are looking good, Brokkr,” I told the blacksmith. “Did you find time to finish the tomahawks for my hunters?”

“I did,” Brokkr confirmed. “Stayed up half the night, but they were ready before the hunt this morning. Your four huntresses have three apiece for throwin’, and a long-handled design for each hand.”

“Excellent.” I nodded. “What about the one you were making for Anakol? Did you finish it up?”

Brokkr sighed at the phrasing I intentionally used, and my warlord grinned brazenly while he crossed his burly arms over his chest.

“Let’s see it, slave,” he goaded. “But remember… if this piece shatters on me, I’ll be using the shards to skin your back.”

“Lovely,” Brokkr snorted, and he took his time shuffling to the back corner of his shop.

When he returned with the tomahawk I’d started on yesterday though, Anakol’s dark eyes immediately glinted in an almost predatory way, and I smirked as I admired the seven-inch spike lined with four razor-sharp and spiraling ridges.

The piece turned out exactly as I’d had in mind, and the three of us took a moment of silence while Anakol flipped the tomahawk over a few times to get a look from every angle. I had a feeling we were all picturing it impaled through an Illskan warrior’s skull, but my braided warlord chose not to say a damn word about his new weapon.

Anakol just avoided Brokkr’s gaze while the blacksmith sent him a shit-eating grin, but this was a decent improvement, so I figured Brokkr wouldn’t be dying at my warlord’s hand anytime soon.

“Let’s make a few dozen more of these,” I told Brokkr. “It’s a fucking brutal design. Keep making swords as well, though. We’ll finish whatever we can this week, and then spend all next week making these and the standard tomahawks for the rest of the clan.”

“I can do that,” Brokkr agreed.

“Great, I appreciate it,” I told him.

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