Brad, who was starting to get a sense of Ismeth's character, cursed under his breath as he prepared for an arm-wrestling match with the fearsome half-giant brothers, Char and Dhar. The Charlatan Inn erupted in cheers as the bets were settled, with all but one person favoring Dhar for the first match. Ismeth, ever the confident gambler, put his and Brad's money on Brad, much to the amusement of the mining dwarves who were collecting the bets.
As word spread, the inn filled with spectators, and the innkeeper, despite his initial protests, couldn't help but be pleased with the influx of customers and the constant orders for drinks.
Before the match began, Ismeth sauntered over to Dhar and whispered something in his ear, causing the giant man to burst into laughter. Brad, who had watched the exchange with some suspicion, approached Ismeth and asked, "What did you say to him that was so funny?"
"I'll tell you later," Ismeth replied, his voice calm and collected. "You need to beat those two, because our whole plan depends on it."
Brad raised an eyebrow. "Both of them and what plan?"
But there was no time for answers, as the match was about to begin. Despite his smaller size, Brad's muscular arms and neck bulged with veins as he rolled up his sleeves to reveal his strength. The seasoned spectators had their doubts, but as the competition started, Brad's wild gaze and the veins on his arms and neck began to thicken, causing his opponent to worry.
The fight was over in just thirty seconds. At first, it seemed as though Dhar was close to victory, but Brad's clenched teeth and snarling expression belied a latent power that propelled him to victory in the last ten seconds. Dhar, clutching his bruised wrist, shot his brother a terrified look. Char, even bigger than his brother, laughed arrogantly.
As Brad caught his breath, he wiped his sweaty hands on Ismeth, who grinned in response. Then, without missing a beat, Brad reached for the nearby mining dwarves and dipped his slightly dried hands into the dust on them, a look of grim determination on his face.
"I'm ready now," Brad said, his breaths deep and heavy.
Eager to begin the second match before the adrenaline peaked, Brad glared at his opponent with wild eyes and snarled fiercely. Char sat across from him, oozing self-confidence. The barbarian let out a battle cry, and the competition began in earnest.
However, it quickly devolved into a struggle of who could shout louder. Both sides attacked to intimidate each other, each putting on a show of force before the two wild beasts lunged at each other to the death. Neither would back down. They attacked each other with all their might, summoning reserves of strength they didn't know they had. It was a rare display of physical and mental prowess, the likes of which had seldom been seen in the history of arm wrestling.
For minutes on end, they strained every muscle in their wrists ablaze, screaming until their throats grew hoarse. Some spectators, unable to bear the intense perseverance and brutality they witnessed, grew bored and fled, but the dwarves and seasoned warriors stayed rooted to the spot, their mouths agape as they watched the grueling contest.
If either man had any strength left, he would have congratulated the other on the honorable fight. As it was, they both collapsed to the ground, drained.
Brad was shaken to his core by the latent power he had felt surging within him, a power he had experienced several times before and always denied. He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself, as the dwarves congratulated him despite their lost money. Unable to find peace in the tumult of the moment, he shoved his way through the crowd, knocking aside anyone who stood in his way. Ismeth followed close behind, his expression unreadable as they hurried out of the inn, their breathing ragged and labored.
Ismeth cautiously approached Brad, who was hunched over and retching. "Are you alright, my friend?" he asked.
"Stay back!" Brad snarled, his body trembling with a fury that threatened to consume him.
If only he could expel the beast within him, he would gladly do so. But he couldn't. He fought to contain the surge of anger that threatened to spill out of him like lava from a volcano. The urge to strangle Ismeth and tear him limb from limb was almost too strong to resist. But Brad knew he had to resist it. This too shall pass, he repeated to himself like a mantra, praying to the gods for the strength to overcome his inner demons.
And then, a miracle happened. Brad heard the gentle chirping of birds outside and the rustling of the wind. He closed his eyes and let the soothing sounds of nature wash over him, filling him with a sense of calm he hadn't felt for long. He sighed, knowing it was only a brief respite. He knew that his inner demons would continue to haunt him, but for now, he was at peace.
Ismeth watched in awe as Brad regained his composure. This was the first time he had seen Brad in such a state of turmoil, and it was a frightening sight. He made a mental note to steer clear of Brad when his adrenaline was running high - a lesson learned the hard way later on for the unmindful knight.
* * *
Brad and Ismeth had secured the trust of the miner dwarves, leaving only the captain's approval to finalize their agreement. Swiftly, they made their way back to the station, where Ismeth made a deliberate omission about Brad's victory over two burly northerners in an arm wrestling match. Sergeant Henderson, a rotund man with a penchant for hearty laughter, seemed incredulous when he heard their news.
"So, you managed to convince the mining dwarves to provide us with granite?" he asked, clearly taken aback.
"Indeed," replied Ismeth, his chest puffed with pride.
"And for free?" Sergeant Henderson asked, his expression one of disbelief.
"Not entirely free," corrected Ismeth, his confidence unfazed. "In exchange, we've agreed to undertake a couple of security assignments for the dwarves' cargo."
"Very well then, do what you must," commanded the sergeant.
"Shouldn't we wait for the captain's approval?" queried Brad.
"The captain is away on a mission. He's entrusted you to me, and that's all the authority I need," the sergeant retorted, his brow furrowed.
Officially cadets, the two were considered superior to Sergeant Henderson and weren't subject to his orders. In practice, however, some knights didn't accord much deference to their fledgling colleagues and preferred to entrust them to experienced sergeants.
"We respect you, Sergeant. If you say it's okay, then we'll proceed," said Ismeth, mollifying the sergeant.
"Good, good," replied the sergeant, his tone paternal. "Now listen up, lads. Carry out your assigned tasks diligently, and keep me updated. But don't be overly formal. As long as you don't create unnecessary expenses, we'll get along fine. Remember to notify me of the route details before you set off. And ensure that the renovations are completed before winter sets in."
"One more thing, Sergeant. I understand that the dwarves' paperwork for the fair is overdue. Can we do anything about it?" Brad asked.
"There's a paperwork room on the first floor of the main building. You'll recognize it by the piles of documents strewn everywhere. Check the permit papers against the chart, and if they're ready, bring them to me. I'll forward them to the captain," the sergeant explained.
"Bureaucracy at its finest," quipped Ismeth, a grin spreading across his face.
The sergeant chuckled heartily and departed, still chortling.
"What a peculiar place we've landed in," remarked Ismeth as the sergeant walked away.
"Everyone's occupied, Ismeth. We'll find our niche and make ourselves useful," Brad replied.
"Sounds perfect to me," Ismeth chortled.
The afternoon was consumed in a tiresome pile of paperwork. After an arduous search, they finally unearthed the dwarves' documents. They meticulously combed through the papers, verifying each one before submitting them to the sergeant for approval. Ismeth's frustration boiled over, and he cursed loudly throughout the process.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, Ismeth urged Brad to visit the halflings' encampment. Brad was surprised to find Char and Dhar there.
"Ahoy, my half-giant brethren!" Ismeth called out, waving enthusiastically.
"We're at your mercy, Ismeth. We've come to make good on our promise," Dhar replied with a sheepish grin.
Ismeth produced a purse from his pocket. "The payment is ready, as promised," he said, extending the pouch to Dhar and winking.
"What's going on, Ismeth?" Brad interjected, grabbing Dhar's wrist and the purse.
The giant's demeanor shifted, and his brother Char tensed up.
"Hold on, hold on. It's all good!" Ismeth exclaimed, raising his hands in a placating gesture. He then turned to Brad. "Remember when I whispered something in Dhar's ear before the match?" he asked.
"Yes," Brad replied, his skepticism mounting.
"I promised them a helping hand in exchange for ten silvers if they lost the fight," Ismeth explained.
"Collusion?" Brad asked incredulously.
"No," Char interjected. "You beat us fair and square. We could have each earned five gold if we won the match, so why would we humiliate ourselves for a measly ten silvers? We agreed to assist Ismeth on the condition that you defeated us both. We didn't think you were capable of such a feat," Dhar added with a hint of dejection in his voice.
"Relax, Brad. I'm paying the twin brothers from the earnings we made. That's all there is to it," Ismeth reassured him, grinning.
Brad nodded, releasing Dhar's wrist. In an effort to apologize, he lightly squeezed the giant's shoulder.
"Pray, tell me, what aid shall we offer?" Char inquired, his nerves now somewhat assuaged.
Ismeth gestured towards the carriages mired in the bog. The twins chortled once more, their mirth now wholly genuine.
Together, the quartet employed their tools and brawn to extricate the vehicles from the muck in under two hours. They then shared a convivial libation. The towering duo imparted a plethora of vital knowledge regarding the Burrow territory. Dhar proffered Brad a challenge of imbibing, but the latter declined. Ismeth took up the gauntlet instead. Towards midnight, Brad had to carry an inebriated Ismeth to the dormitory.
The following day, most of the dwarves, who had been awaiting their arrival for more than a month, expressed their gratitude towards the knight candidates for securing their permits and promptly set off to attend the fair. Brad, who supervised the remaining dwarves and their provisions, pledged to expedite their documentation as well. In recognition of their benevolence, the dwarves bestowed upon the two a pair of chainmail gloves, arm and foot guards, chest armor, and a helmet adorned with the finest dwarven embroidery.
Ismeth selected a comfortable helmet with a visor that shielded the area surrounding his eyes and nose, leaving his face unencumbered. Brad, however, favored a helmet of pliable metal that was interwoven with chainmail and protruded forward, revealing only the upper part of his nose and his eyes. Being versed in blacksmithing, he discerned that these helmets were crafted by the most accomplished dwarves. They both expressed their heartfelt appreciation to their benefactors.
The mining dwarves fulfilled their promise and delivered the granite within a week. Brad and Ismeth commenced their security duties for the cargo that same week, successfully completing three circuits without any untoward incidents.
By the waning days of autumn, the duo had established a well-ordered routine, having completed most of the preparations for the winter and having concluded the renovation of the station. Within a month, they had exceeded the captain's expectations, and he summoned them to his chambers for a crucial mission. After receiving their directives, they departed with the eight men under their command. Observing their departure, the sergeant remarked to the captain:
"Are you certain of this, captain? They are both so young and inexperienced."
The unflinching knight cast a sardonic smile. "Real combat is the crucible in which they will forge their knighthood. Let us see if these valiant youths are lions or mere house cats," he muttered.