It felt lopsided walking with two swords slung around his hips. DJ hoped that it made him look cool and intimidating, but he was sure his waddle didn’t do him any favors. He had become noticeably stronger since leaving Beregond, but two swords felt like a hundred pounds after walking for miles and miles.

Their first night outside Blight’s Respite, DJ practiced magic with the mage robes on. He felt the effect immediately. It was like his insides lapped with cool ocean waves—the magical well inside him grew bigger. And when he practiced magic, it felt effortless. Spells that would normally test his limits became an easy lift. He cast a flurry of Ice Spike, Flamefist, two Barriers, and Ice Spike again before his head started to throb. As he clutched his temples between his palms, he smiled.

Everyone’s gifts came in handy. Steve would prepare eggs or bacon while walking like an invisible fire hovered under the pan. Riley talked about how much smoother Windfeather was to handle than her Pebble-made bow. And, of course, Francis read Withered Leafs cover-to-cover multiple times.

“He was one of the few orcs like me,” he told DJ. “He lived five hundred years ago and was banished for his criticism of violence. His published works are difficult to find—many orcs burn them if they can.”

“Will you read me a poem?” DJ asked.

Francis flipped through the volume. “It’s written in orcspeak, so it won’t translate well to commonspeak, and it won’t rhyme, but let me… ah, here’s a good one.

The night is cold and wide

The meat is dry and cannot fill

I am alone not only in my body

But in my mind and spirit”

Goosebumps spread along DJ’s arms. As Francis read the words, DJ knew the orc felt them.

After two days of travel, they met the Camās Gahl Mountains on their left—tall, awesome, sloping to the sky. At night, they loomed mighty, forming jagged lines where the stars ended. DJ worried about bears or mountain lions, but Francis assured him that as long as they kept the fire going, they wouldn’t have to worry. Riley brought up trolls or giants, but Francis smiled and said those creatures dwelt much farther in the mountains.

The next morning, Steve made breakfast and the others broke camp. They walked without chatter for miles before they reached a familiar face standing at the crest of a hill.

Sir Percival Buttons.

The sight of the little beast halted them. Everyone armed themselves. The gnome stood with his hand on his sword in the middle of the road. No trap. No sleight of hand. Beside him, Mittens hunched on its paws, hissing and baring its fangs.

“Across the territory,” the gnome muttered. “From the Aeldar Forest, to Varis, and now, at the foot of the Camās Gahl Mountains.”

The party remained deathly quiet.

“I grow tired of these traps and games,” Buttons spoke through his teeth. “I will take the girl to her father and restore my honor. I challenge you for her, here and now.” He pointed at DJ with his little sword. “You struck Mittens, so it is you I challenge. And this I promise you: you will be the one to bleed.”

A shiver swept through DJ. He wasn’t wearing his mage robes, so he would only be able to fight at his basic capacity. But that wasn’t the main worry. He knew he could torch the gnome if necessary—but the thought of reliving Broken Lovers Pass filled him with dread.

There had to be another way. He just had to think.

Francis stepped in front of him, clutching his ax. “There will be no battle. And you will not take Miss Riley.”

“I will,” Buttons growled. “Or you will bleed too.”

“Meow!” Mittens agreed.

DJ’s mind pulled out whatever volumes of information he had on Sir Percival Buttons. It was while he considered Buttons’ mission that an idea struck him. And it would avoid spilling more blood.

“No, I accept,” DJ said. He put his hand on Francis’s arm to pull him back.

Francis protested. “Young knight, think about—”

“I have. Let me handle it.”

“DJ,” Riley said. “Don’t fight him. I’m a ranger now. I can go home.”

“Do you want to go home?” DJ asked.

Riley shrunk. “No… we’re so close to the Amulet. But I’d rather go home than see you get hurt.”

DJ smiled. “I’ll be fine. Trust me.”

Steve watched the young knight nervously. “Goddess give you safety, Sir DJ! My prayers shall be with you!”

Buttons squared up. DJ trudged up the hill, meeting him on equal ground. The two faced each other several paces away. DJ’s friends moved off the road, shifting on their feet and biting their nails. Mittens hunched down beside Buttons, swishing its tail, ready to pounce.

DJ clamped his jaw to keep it from chattering. He swallowed and nodded to Francis. “Count us off.”

The orc straightened his back and tried to stay calm. “Three. Two. One. Fight!”

Buttons dashed forward, weapon raised. Mittens dug in his paws and followed.

DJ dropped to one knee as fast as he could. “I yield!”

Both Buttons and Mittens slid to a stop before the gnome’s steel could taste blood. Button’s arms fumbled to his sides and an angry frown spread across his face. “What? Coward! I want a duel! What trickery is this?”

“You had your duel.” DJ put his other knee on the ground and gazed into Button’s beady little eyes. “It commenced, and I yielded. It’s over, and you are the victor. Now you deserve a gift as a token of your victory.”

Buttons watched him in stunned silence, unsure of whether or not to be insulted.

“Listen,” DJ’s tone became serious. “Riley told me about your mission—about how you’re trying to restore your honor and go home. And it made me realize I misjudged you. You are a noble gnome. And I think this gift will prove it to your people.”

DJ put his hands on his waist and unlatched his newly reclaimed knight sword. All of his friends watched with bated breath. Buttons just watched. DJ extended the sword in his hands, sheath, belt, and all.

“As a Knight of Beregond, I bestow on you my knightly weapon,” DJ said. “On behalf your bravery and dedication, and a token of your victory over me this day. Show it to the people of your village so they know your honor has been restored. All I ask is that you return whatever sum was paid to Riley’s father. We both win here, Sir Percival. What do you say?”

The gears turned in Button’s mind. DJ watched silently, praying that the gnome wouldn’t raise his weapon and strike him down while he had the chance. Button’s attention turned from the knight sword to DJ’s face over and over.

“If this is a trick,” the gnome said. “I will hunt you until your dying day.”

“It’s no trick, Buttons. The blade is yours.”

Buttons reached out with cautious hands and took the blade. He hefted it in his small hands, admiring the weight and craftsmanship. Out of the corner of his eye, DJ saw his friends staring with dangling mouths. DJ grinned.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“It is a fine weapon,” Buttons mumbled.

“You know it’s a high honor to be gifted a knight’s weapon,” DJ said.

“I’m aware.” The gnome thought for a moment more, then gave a nod. “Yes. This shall suffice.”

“Thank you,” DJ bowed as a weight lifted off him. “Riley is my best friend. It was her wish to travel across Uh and become a ranger. I didn’t want you to take that from her. But in the process, I hurt your best friend.” DJ faced the direcat. “I’m sorry, Mittens. I hope you can forgive me.”

Buttons slung the sword over his back. DJ thought it could function like a greatsword in the gnome’s hands. Buttons extended his hand to shake. DJ shook it in a firm clasp. Then Buttons mounted Mittens and gave them all a nod.

“It appears that our business is at an end,” he said. “Farewell, travelers. I wish you safety in your journey.”

“Thank you,” DJ said. “You’ll always have a friend in Beregond, Buttons.”

Buttons kicked Mitten’s stirrups, the direcat meowed, and they galloped westward for the mountains.

As DJ watched the gnome and his direcat become small in the distance, Francis lumbered up and put his hand on DJ’s shoulder. “Tremendous,” he said. “You’ve diffused the ire of an enemy. You never cease to surprise me, young knight.”

“Goddess be praised!” Steve said, waving his frying pan in the air. “You have achieved victory through peace!”

“Victory?” Riley smirked. “It was your first duel and you yielded the second it started. As it stands, your stats are terrible.”

DJ squinted at her. Riley smiled with a twinkle in her eye. She said, “You just got that sword back. You’re not gonna miss it?”

“Nah.” DJ shook his head. “I’m a mage. I just carry a sword to look tough.”

Riley suppressed a laugh. “That was brilliant, Deej. Thanks.”

She gave him a tight hug, then punched his shoulder. DJ blushed.

*

The party marched northward until they found the dwarven village of Artak pushed against the mountain’s foot. Francis couldn’t keep his pace reasonable once it came into view. His amber eyes shone with childlike wonder and his arms swung a little more when he walked. Everyone had to jog to keep up with him.

The village of Artak was too small to be a city, but had all of the fixings of a typical city—inns, taverns, stables, even a monastery. Each building was hewn from finely cut stone in the similar manner of Brooks’ Bakery back in Laradyl. The rock was a rich iron gray, excavated from the nearby mountain’s interior, and they utilized the steep sloping lines that felt sturdy and majestic.

DJ had never seen so many dwarves in one place. They took up nearly half of the village’s population. One he spotted wore a white robe with a matching white hat. The robe had a large insignia on the left breast—a set of doors with a book illustrated across them.

Francis nudged DJ and pointed. “A Wordkeeper of Artak! They took oaths to watch over the Library. They keep the books, clean facilities, help visitors… they make a covenant with the other Wordkeepers to serve in that capacity until they perish.”

“Wow,” DJ said, watching the Wordkeeper march through town. “Can anyone be a Wordkeeper?”

“No,” Francis shook his head. “You must be a dwarf. Otherwise I would have applied years ago.”

The party traveled along the dirt road until they reached a large intersection in the middle of the village. When they looked to their left, they saw it.

The Library of Artak stood with massive, yawning stone doors at the foot of the mountain. The doors were exactly like the ones DJ saw on the Wordkeeper’s robes. Local guards stood at the Library’s entrance, keeping watch.

Francis went straight for it. The rest of the group followed behind, but struggled to keep up.

“Francis!” Riley called. “Shouldn’t we stop and get something to eat? Or pawn some of our old weapons to pay for a room?”

Francis looked back at her like she was crazy. “Miss Riley, I’ve wanted to visit this library since I was a child! I cannot wait a moment longer!”

DJ ignored his grumbling stomach and followed Francis.

When they reached the doors, DJ was surprised to see that the guards didn’t look anything like the Wordkeepers at all. Usually there was a smart uniformity among town guards, but these guards’ armor were completely mismatched—as if they got dressed from a blacksmith’s lost-and-found. There were four of them at the doors, armed with swords and spears. None of them were dwarves either, just dirty-faced humans.

Francis ignored their appearances and stopped before them. His smile stretched to both ears. “We seek entrance to the Library of Artak.”

One of the guards sized up the group. “Four of you?”

“Yes.”

“Two hundred gold.”

Francis’s smile dropped. He spoke through his tusks, and couldn’t keep confused heat out of his voice. “But… the Library is supposed to be free. That’s how it’s been for hundreds of years!”

“That was before the Nightwolves took over,” the guard pointed a thumb into his chest. “The Wordkeepers graciously relented control of the Library when we came to town. So if you don’t got the coin, you can take a hike.”

Francis’s green cheeks mixed with red. His fists balled at his sides and his massive frame trembled. “This is a sacred place of learning.”

“And now it’s ours,” the guard said smugly. “Don’t get any funny ideas.” He tightened his grip on his spear. “There are four of us here, but a dozen more inside. Even if you knock us down, the rest’ll kill ya before you touch a single book. So pay up or get lost.”

Francis stayed rooted in his spot, uncharacteristically lost for words. He opened and closed his mouth, but the anger that crashed through his body kept his brain from working.

Riley put her hand in his. “Francis, come on. We’ll figure something out.”

With some hesitation, Francis left the doors and turned back to the village. During the walk back, he stared ahead like his mind was elsewhere. His fists stayed balled up and the muscles in his jaw flexed.

DJ raised his eyes and said, “Francis, I’m really sorry. I know how much you were looking forward to seeing the Library.”

Francis didn’t speak.

“Maybe we can scrape up some coin?” DJ said. “Sell some of our stuff. Find a little hustle like we always—”

“I’m not paying one coin to a group of greedy bandits,” Francis growled. “The Library of Artak is supposed to be free. The mission of the Wordkeepers is to bring light and knowledge to all who seek it. Not for profit. Not for personal gain. For the benefit of all, free of charge.”

“The Goddess will provide!” Steve yelped. “She has so far!”

Francis looked like he wanted to argue, but he stopped himself. He squelched the anger thundering in his chest. “You’re right, Steven. It’s not the time to get hasty.” He looked around his friends. “Let’s sell our old weapons. Purchase a room and a hot meal. Once we’re settled, we should speak to the Wordkeepers. They’ll know more about this.”

They did just that. Riley’s old bow and Steve’s old frying pan didn’t fetch as much as they were hoping for. But that amount along with Riley’s collection of jackrabbit pelts, roots, and mushrooms was just enough to afford them a modest room some meals.

At the tavern, Francis finished his stew before anyone else, and tried his best to hide his distress. His arms folded over his wide chest and his toe tapped under the table. The other tavern patrons watched Francis out of the corners of their eyes, wondering what this strange orc could be so upset about.

At last, they left the tavern and found the Wordkeepers’ Temple near the western edge of the village. It was one of the larger structures in town, five stories high, made of the village’s same iron-gray stone, complete with a belltower on top. All around it, a generous courtyard teemed with trees, shrubbery, and flowers. Two Wordkeepers stood at the courtyard’s entrance, but they felt more like greeters than guards. They bowed to the group as they approached.

“Friends,” Francis said as he bowed back. “Today I learned the terrible news about the Library.”

Both Wordkeepers’ faces drooped with sadness. One said, “The Nightwolves have controlled it for the better part of a year now.”

“How did they overpower you?” Francis asked. “These bandits must have vast resources.”

“They caught us unawares,” the other Wordkeeper said. “We were unable to resist them. Now they hardly let us enter at all.”

“There’s must be something we can do,” Francis said. “We’ve been very fortunate on our journey thus far. Perhaps we can drive them out.”

Both Wordkeepers’ eyes got wide and they shook their heads. One said, “Please, don’t! They hold nothing sacred—lives nor books! They’ve threatened to destroy it all if we resist!”

Francis’s voice died down and he stole a glance westward, as if the guards could hear him from hundreds of yards away. “Do you know how the bandits are stationed inside the library? Or have a map of the library that we could reference?”

“Please don’t!” the second Wordkeeper said, gripping Francis’s tunic. “We must insist! It’s not worth the knowledge that could be lost!”

This quieted Francis. He calmly released the Wordkeeper’s hands. “I see. Peace be with you, then, Wordkeepers.”

The crew turned and solemnly marched back to toward the inn, leaving behind two very distressed Wordkeepers. As they traveled along the main road, DJ leaned toward Francis. “Seriously, let’s find some odd jobs around town and save up enough to visit the Library. We came all this way, Francis. You can’t just—”

“We’ll enter the Library, young knight,” Francis said. He stopped abruptly in the road. Everyone in the group hung on his next words. “Are you willing liberate it with me? Our plans have proven effective so far, Sir DJ. Perhaps fate—the Goddess, what have you—is on our side.”

Suddenly, DJ felt very small with Francis’s intense amber eyes focused on him. As the leader, DJ knew that they would go where he instructed, but the Wordkeepers’ admonition was firm. Yet, this was Francis’s wish—the reason he joined DJ’s quest to begin with. And they had enjoyed a lot of good luck the last few months. Maybe there was something to be done.

DJ swallowed, looked around, and whispered. “If we can make something air tight, zero chance of failure, I’m in.”

Francis brightened. “Thank you, young knight. Generations will bless you for this deed.”