The following week brought a flurry of activity within the dwarven fort. The goblin sighting had prompted a lockdown, and the atmosphere hung heavy with tension. Patrols were doubled, movement was restricted, and the outposts with semaphore relay sheds were fortified and garrisoned.

  Skirmishes between patrols and goblin raiding parties became grimly frequent, with casualties mounting on both sides. Orcish raiders continued their assaults on trade caravans, and the fort’s defenses were stretched thin.

  During an assembly, Captain Firebeard addressed the gathered rangers, builders, and engineers, his voice carrying the weight of both caution and determination.

  “Reinforcements are being mustered, my brethren,” he declared. “But it will take weeks for the clans to assemble a proper force. However, the human kingdoms have dispatched an advance force—Hussars and Reiters. They should arrive within the week to bolster our numbers.”

  A ripple of relief spread through the crowd. The Hussars—elite light cavalry—would serve as an excellent screening force, swift and agile, perfect for escorting caravans. The Reiters, armed with pistols and trained in skirmish tactics, would lend valuable support with their maneuverability and firepower. Combined with the rangers, they would make for a versatile force capable of harrying the enemy until the bulk of the reinforcements arrived.

  Sensing the unease still lingering in the assembly, the captain continued, “Given the urgency, the elves have agreed to send enchanters to build and maintain a temporary portal. It won’t be easy without proper leylines, but once the region is secured, the elven surveyors will map the area for more permanent solutions.”

  The fort’s expansion plans were adjusted accordingly—more barns for the horses, an additional storehouse for provisions, and defensive upgrades across the board. But when the subject of water supply was raised, one of the builders voiced what everyone was thinking:

  “What about the water? The water stone won’t be enough for that many horses.”

  The captain nodded. “Aye. I’ve thought of that as well. We’ll divert the runestones we set aside for the mushroom farm expansion to build a Rune Well.”

  The builders grumbled but understood the necessity. A Rune Well would draw moisture from deep underground, ensuring the fort’s livestock and garrison had enough to endure.

  Nearby, I leaned over to Tink. “What exactly is a Rune Well?”

  “It’s a deep well with runes inscribed along the bottom half,” she explained. “The runes pull moisture from underground sources into the reservoir. Works even in dry ground.”

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  Since the grim revelations from the captured goblin, Tink had rarely strayed far from my side. She’d moved her bags and bedroll into my workshop, officially helping me with the growing number of cartridge orders. I appreciated the company—and her help was invaluable. She kept my work organized, and her sharp mind was quick to catch details I might have missed.

  One afternoon, as we hauled my latest project toward the training fields, we crossed paths with Sgt. Ironheart.

  “Hallo, Garrok! Hallo, Tink! What’s that you’ve got there?” he asked, eyeing the object in my arms with interest.

  “Hi, Sarge!” Tink chirped. “We’re on our way to test this big lug’s new toy.”

  Ironheart squinted at the gun I carried, curiosity glinting in his eyes. “Well then, let’s have a look.”

  The weapon was my newest invention—a gun of unusual design. Two thick barrels ran side by side, each barrel eighteen inches long, mounted on a short stock. The lock plates were identical to those on my long gun.

  “I call it the Dubbelebois,” I said, grinning. “Double-barreled gun.”

  By the time we reached the training grounds, a small crowd of curious dwarves had gathered to watch.

  Tink and Ironheart helped set up the target dummies while I readied the Dubbelebois. I took aim and pulled the triggers in quick succession.

  BOOM! BOOM!

  Twin blasts roared across the field, shredding the targets into splinters. I reached into my pouch for a pair of thick paper cartridges, loading and ramming each down the barrels with my hatchet before cocking both hammers.

  Then, gripping the weapon one-handed, I pointed it at another cluster of dummies.

  KABLAM!!!

  Both barrels fired at once in a deafening blast, decimating several of the targets. The recoil hit like a hammer, but I planted my feet and held my ground, gritting my teeth as the twin barrels spat fire and lead. Fueled by the thrill of the shot, I let out a resounding war cry.

  “RAAAGHHH!!!”

  I charged the remaining dummies, swinging the Dubbelebois like a club. The heavy barrels crushed skulls, while my hatchet carved through the last of the straw men. Only one dummy remained.

  I stood, reloaded, and fired once more—blasting the final target to pieces.

  “Hmph.” I gave the stock an approving nod. “Still fires after being used as a club. Now that’s durability.”

  Satisfied, I turned back to the small but growing audience, smoke still curling from the muzzles of the Dubbelebois. The gathered dwarves stood in stunned silence for a moment, eyes wide, mouths half-open.

  Then came the first slow clap—from Ironheart himself—followed by a few more, until the crowd broke into hearty applause and cheers.

  “By the forge,” one of the younger builders muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. “Never seen a gun take punishment like that and still fire true.”

  Ironheart stepped forward, grinning from ear to ear, his eyes gleaming with both respect and mischief. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, gave a low chuckle, and tilted his head toward me.

  “Well,” Ironheart said, voice rich with admiration, “I’d be a damn fool not to ask…” He leaned in slightly, lowering his tone as if conspiring with an old friend.

  “Can I have one?”

  The dwarves laughed, the tension of the past few days melting into warm camaraderie. One of the Greybeards nearby gave an approving nod, murmuring, “Truly worthy of the title, Master Smith.”

  Even Tink, still catching her breath from the excitement, gave Ironheart a playful shove.

  I smirked, resting the Dubbelebois against my shoulder. “Maybe,” I replied, eyes twinkling. “But you’ll have to help me hammer out a few more barrels first.”

  Ironheart let out a booming laugh, nodding approvingly. “A fair bargain, Master Smith. A fair bargain indeed.”