Chapter 8

  Elder Grimda's workshop was quiet when I arrived that evening, lit only by the soft glow of enchantment runes she was carving into a piece of obsidian.

  "Heard you went to the Guild," she said without looking up.

  "How do you always know these things?"

  "I'm old. I know everything." She set down her tools. "Did Thorgar sort you out?"

  "He did." I sat on her spare stool. "He mentioned you spoke to the council about me."

  "Aye."

  "Why?"

  Grimda finally looked at me, her expression unreadable. "Because you're good at this, and you deserve a fair chance. Simple as that."

  "It's not simple though. You spent your time and reputation vouching for a thirty-year-old foundling."

  "My reputation's solid enough to handle it." She picked up the obsidian again, examining her work. "Besides, I didn't lie. Your containment work on the Fire-Belch was exceptional. The binding structure, the delayed release mechanism and the way you integrated magical properties without interference. That's advanced stuff."

  "You taught me most of it."

  "I taught you the basics of rune work. The rest was you figuring out how to apply it." She made another careful cut into the stone. "The council needed to understand that you weren't just some lucky whelp who stumbled onto a novelty brew. You're methodical. Those are qualities the Guild values." I sat in silence for a moment, processing.

  "Thank you," I said finally. "I mean it."

  "Don't thank me by wasting the opportunity. You've got a workspace now and equipment access. Use it. Create something worth the investment."

  "I will."

  "Good." She set down her tools again. "Now get out of my workshop. Some of us have actual work to do."

  But she was smiling as she said it.

  ********

  The Guild Council chamber was smaller than the main hall, lined with shelves holding centuries records. Seven dwarves sat around an oval table, their expressions ranging from interested to sceptical.

  Elder Grimda stood at the head of the table, a piece of enchanted glass in her hand. Inside the glass, a small flame flickered, suspended in amber liquid.

  "This," she said, her voice carrying the authority of seven hundred years, "is a sample of the Fire-Belch Ale created by Gosdrunli of Clan Durn-Kahl."

  Master Thorgar leaned forward. "We've all heard the rumours. Ale that lets the drinker breathe fire. Impressive showmanship, but is there substance behind it?"

  "There is." Grimda set the glass on the table. "The containment work alone is worth examining. Look at the runic structure."

  She traced a finger along the glass, and glowing lines appeared, showing the layered magical binding. The council members leaned in, studying the intricate pattern.

  "Triple-layer containment," one of them murmured. "With conditional release triggers."

  "Exactly." Grimda's finger moved to another section. "The fire essence from embercap mushrooms is bound here, stabilized by ashwillow. The pepperroot tincture acts as a catalyst, but only when specific chemical conditions are met. Stomach acid, carbonation, body temperature. All three must align before the magic releases."

  "That's sophisticated work," another council member said. "How old is this brewer?"

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  "Thirty years."

  Silence. Then someone laughed.

  "Thirty? Mountain Fathers, Grimda. I know you like taking on projects, but thirty?"

  "I've been teaching him rune work since he was fifteen," Grimda said calmly. "Fifteen years of instruction, twice weekly. He absorbed everything I taught and extrapolated further. This containment structure? I showed him the basics. The application, the innovation, the way he integrated multiple magical properties without interference? That was entirely his own work."

  She picked up the glass again. "I've seen seven hundred years of magical crafting. This is exceptional work by any standard. The fact that it came from someone so young makes it more impressive, not less."

  Thorgar studied the flame. "What's your recommendation?"

  "Affiliate status, immediate. Give him access to proper equipment and workspace. Let him develop under Guild guidance rather than struggling alone." Grimda's expression sharpened. "And I'm recommending this not as a favour, but as an investment. The Guild needs new talent. Fresh approaches. This boy has both."

  The council members exchanged glances.

  "The Elder Council of Durn-Kahl supports this?" one asked.

  "The tithe arrangement was approved. The clan recognizes the value of his work."

  "Then I see no reason to refuse," Thorgar said. "All in favour of affiliate status for Gosdrunli of Durn-Kahl?"

  Six hands rose. Only one dwarf abstained, an ancient brewer with a beard braided to his knees.

  "Motion carries." Thorgar made a note in his ledger. "Send word when he comes to us. We'll get him sorted."

  Grimda nodded once, satisfied. "Thank you for your time."

  As she left the chamber, Thorgar called after her. "Grimda? You're putting your reputation behind this boy. Don't think we've forgotten."

  She paused at the doorway. "My reputation can handle it. Question is whether the Guild can handle what he's going to create next."

  And with that, she was gone.

  I spent the next two days shopping. Master Durnok's forge was exactly as Thorgar described, a sweltering chamber hung with copper pots like metallic fruit. The ancient dwarf examined me with eyes that had seen centuries.

  "You're the whelp Thorgar sent over. Fire-Belch brewer."

  "That's me."

  "Hm. Young to be setting up professional." He pulled down a medium-sized pot, the copper gleaming despite obvious age. "This one's good bones. Two hundred years of use, but properly maintained. Previous owner was Master Brenna, died last year. Family's selling her equipment."

  He demonstrated the pot's balance, running thick fingers along the interior. "See this? Even thickness throughout. No weak spots. Runes are still active, just need minor refreshment. Seven gold."

  I examined it carefully. The weight felt right, the interior showed minimal wear.

  "What about new?"

  "New costs twelve for this quality." Durnok grunted. "Old isn't worse in this trade. It's proven. This pot's brewed thousands of batches. It'll brew thousands more if you treat it right."

  By the time I left, I'd purchased three pots for eighteen gold. A medium from Master Brenna's estate, a smaller one with enhanced temperature runes, and a larger pot that Durnok claimed had brewed victory ale for some ancient celebration.

  "Maintain the runes," Durnok called as I left. "Polish the copper monthly. They'll outlast you."

  Haldri the ceramicist was friendlier, her workshop bright with hanging charms.

  "Fermentation vessels, right? Thorgar sent word you'd be coming." She showed me rows of sturdy ceramic jugs. "I'd recommend six to start. Four traditional for long ferments, two modern for quick batches. Ten gold for the lot, and I'll throw in some storage jars."

  "Done."

  "My nephew tried the Fire-Belch," she added as she wrapped my purchase. "Wouldn't shut up about it for days. Kept trying to breathe fire at the dinner table."

  I winced. "Sorry about that."

  "Sorry? It was hilarious! His mother was furious." She laughed. "Good marketing though. Everyone wants to try it now."

  The barrel-wright Grimsson sold me four quarter-casks for seven gold. "Oak, properly seasoned. They'll age your brews beautifully." By the end of the second day, I'd spent thirty-five gold on equipment and arranged delivery to my new workshop. Adding the fourteen gold for rent and dues, I'd committed forty-nine gold total. Twenty-six gold and six silver remaining. A healthy cushion for ingredients and emergencies.

  The morning my equipment arrived, I stood in the empty workshop and felt the weight of possibility. This was real. Not dreams, not plans scratched in a notebook. An actual brewery. My brewery.

  The delivery dwarves helped me position everything. Pots mounted on the stone hearth. Fermentation vessels on shelves along the wall. Barrels stacked in the corner for aging. By midday, I had a functional operation.

  Basic, yes. Small compared to the massive breweries I'd glimpsed in the Guild hall. But mine. I pulled out the copper ring from beneath my shirt, holding it in the lamplight. Whoever had left me at those gates, they'd given me nothing but questions. I was building my own answers.

  The workshop door opened. Thorgar stepped inside, hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed my setup. "Not bad. You've arranged things efficiently." He nodded at the hearth. "Water access is good there. Ventilation's optimal. You've thought about workflow." He's pleased. That's... unexpected. I wasn't sure he'd approve.

  "Tried to, anyway."

  "It shows." He moved to examine one of the pots. "Durnok sold you Brenna's medium pot. This was a favourite of hers. Good choice."

  "He recommended it."

  "He would. Durnok knows his craft." Thorgar turned to face me. "So. You've got the space, you've got the equipment. What are you going to brew?" I hadn't expected the question, but the answer came immediately.

  "Something new."

  "Good answer." Thorgar smiled. "That's what we need. Keep creating, keep pushing boundaries. The Guild will be watching, but not to judge. To learn."

  After he left, I stood alone in my workshop, surrounded by copper and ceramic and oak. The Ingredient Analysis ability hummed at the edge of my awareness, showing me possibilities other brewers couldn't see.

  Time to prove I belonged.