Shadow Clone Sorcery
Chapter 8: The City of Dreams And Corruption (2)

Despite the dense crowds and countless panhandlers and urchins, Lukas saw no shortage of help-wanted signs. On closer inspection, he noticed that many had fine print requesting all applicants be sharded, have experience in a relevant field or shard abilities related to specific pillars. Many demanded improved strength, dexterity, toughness, or reaction time. Some only required employees to not be a mundane. Stefan led them into one such business.

The shop front was empty except for a sleepy two-headed hound. It suspiciously eyed Lukas for a moment before sniffing the air. Then, the dog wandered over to the guard captain, licked his outstretched hand, and flumped down at his feet, legs in the air and tongues hanging out.

“You good, old girl?” He asked, rubbing her belly while the ‘twins’ looked around the shopfront.

Armor pieces and full sets hung from the walls while blades, hammers, and axes sat in display cases or hung from pegs. They looked simple but well-made. Several pieces appeared refurbished. They also featured runescripts but seemed incomplete, damaged, or inactive. Besides armor and weapons, there were bins of miscellaneous tools, brackets, bolts, and parts Lukas didn’t recognize.

The dog’s more wary head let out a displeased howl when El-One picked up a stilleto-like blade. “Sorry,” the clone said, quickly putting it back.

Loud, stomping footsteps followed. A petite raven-haired woman, no taller than Lukas’s shoulder, came charging out through the door in the back of the shop. The volume of her footsteps didn’t quite match her size and frame. “Plague eat your eyes, you thieving—” The woman cut herself short on spotting Stefan. “Captain. I wasn’t expecting you today.” She suspiciously eyed Lukas and El-One. “Who’re they?”

“Refugees from across the mountains,” Stefan answered. “They fled a wyrmkin raid with nothing but their weapons and clothes on their back. Is your pa around? They’ve got decent bits for sale.”

“I’m just as capable of appraisals and purchases, thank you very much.” The young woman frowned, putting her gloved hands on her hips. Lukas thought how her nose crinkled adorably but then reminded himself to focus.

This body might be young and eager, and full of mad hormones but you’re eighty. Keep it in your pants.

“I didn’t doubt you for a second,” El-One said, shooting her a playful wink. Lukas struggled to suppress a groan and resisted the urge to dispel the clone straight away. They placed the hatchet, a dagger, and the sheathed shortsword on the counter behind which we stood.

“We’re not looking to sell everything straight away,” Lukas said. “Just get prices. As Guard Captain Stefan said, we not long arrived in town with empty pockets and need coin for room and board. Until we find jobs, at least.”

“Speaking of jobs.” El-one rested his left elbow on the corner, leaning against it and toward the woman. “I noticed the sign in the window. If you’re willing to accept just anybody, I’d like to fill in an application.”

“Fill in an application?” The woman raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down. “You look like you can barely lift a hammer. Are you even sharded?”

“Newly so and rearing to go,” the clone replied.

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“I’ve tested them myself, and they fought off wyrmkin, Kat,” Stefan said. “I can vouch for the pair.”

“Hiring is up to Pa,” she said, picking up the hatchet and studying it closely. “Clearly wyrmkin made and shoddily as expected.” Kat pointed at the axehead’s edge which had a rippling finish. The metal appeared to have melted like wax toward the shaft. “You can see it here. They rely more on magic and crappy fire breath than genuine artisanal skill.”

“How much will these fine pieces fetch us?” Lukas asked.

“The metal is good and strong. If wyrmkin were any good at smithing, they’d take advantage of all the magic they pour into their work.” Kat paused, putting down the hatchet and grabbing the dagger. “The hatchet is only worth the scrap metal. Cracks. Chips. It's seen too much abuse for refurbishing. I’ll give you two crowns and five shells for it. The dagger, on the other hand, can do with a little reforging, a nice polish, and maybe even some reinforcement or sharpening runes.” She paused, holding it up to the light, testing the hilt, and tapped the blade. “Five crowns, three shells, and fifty chips.”

“A hundred chips make a shell, and ten shells make a crown,” Stefan explained when Lukas looked to him for confirmation. “It’s a modest price.”

“It’s a deal—”

“I think you can do better.” Lukas cut off the clone whose eyes hadn’t left Kat. She flashed El-One a little smile before frowning at him. “Why not round up to an even ten crowns? Scrap or not, metal kissed by Wyrmkin Fire can’t be easy to find. Right?”

“I’m doing Stefan a courtesy here and already offering generous rates.” Kat’s eyes narrowed as she returned the dagger to the counter. “If you want a nice round number, I can do seven crowns.”

“Guard Captain, how about you guide me to the other smithy you mentioned,” Lukas said. “I’d rather find the best rates instead of relying on the kind lady’s generosity.”

“Let’s not be hasty, Lukey.” El-One’s statement went ignored as the shopkeeper and Lukas stared each other down.

“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” Stefan said, looking worried. His eyes wandered past Kat toward the curtain behind the counter. The hound sat up and growled at Lukas.

“Eight crowns,” Kat said.

“Nine,” Lukas replied.

“Eight-two, and fifty.”

“Eight-seven or I walk.”

“Then walk.”

“How about we call it an even eight-five?” The clone asked, pushing the hatchet and dagger toward Kat.

“I’d be okay with that,” Kat said, not breaking eye contact with Lukas.

“I suppose I can live with eight crowns and five shells.” Lukas sighed. “How long will that last us, Captain?”

“The pair of you can live on thirty chips a day if you don’t mind the risk of your throat slit,” Stefan answered. “It will be close to the wall.”

“What about somewhere safe and close to here or the docks?” Lukas asked.

“A shell a day for a room with two beds and dinner. Maybe a bit less if you get somewhere with a single bed and take turns using it.”

“We’ll go for the latter.” Lukas returned his attention to Kat. “About the job. How—”

“It’s not up to me but I’ll advise my father against hiring you. Your brother on the other hand…” She picked up the shortsword and unsheathed it. The scabbard proved a hand longer than the blade, but Kat didn’t comment on it. “This beauty will fetch you twenty-five crowns, at least. I’d need Pa to appraise it to be sure. But it's expertly made.” Kat pointed at the eyeball-sized stone in the hilt. “This is an arcane focus. I’m no expert on the matter but I think you could cast up to first-circle spells through this.” Her fingers ran along the minute script running from the guard up the blade. “This was made for a spellblade’s temporary enchantments. Wind and lightning favored.”

“We’ll hold onto that one for a rainy day,” Lukas said, taking the shortsword from her. He tucked it into his belt and let his coat hang over the weapon, concealing it. Finding a weapons trainer to help him regain lost melee fighting skills would likely prove considerably easier than learning Fracture’s magic. “How about we see your Pa and then we can go on our way?”