Stonecrusher Legacy Book 1: The Uprising

Being treated as a second-class citizen can’t be easy. What is a Dwarf to do when he and his kind are being mistreated?

The Uprising – 

“Here you are again, Waldorf.” Chief Oghark’s tankard of ale sloshes froth and foam down my threadbare tunic as he slams it against the stone table between us.

Stones and bones, I’ve pushed him to a new level of pissed off. 

His corded forearms flex as he rises from his massive carved oak chair. The ancient wood groans in gratitude, his considerable weight no longer its burden to bear. By any standard, this dwarf is a beast—a mountainous warrior who has weathered the ire of his foes for centuries. 

He leans forward on his calloused knuckles, staring me down. 

From the wicked scar slicing down the side of his face to his brutal temper, the chief of Clan Brackenbuell is as jagged and hard as the stone caverns he rules over. I glance around the audience chamber, reading the pride and admiration in the eyes of his people. To his clan, he is a great leader. To those he calls clan guests or indentured servants, he is an autocratic dictator. 

Emphasis on the “dic.”

Whatever he calls us, we are prisoners, plain and simple. 

I meet Oghark’s glare, which should be terrifying. Still, we’re clan guests, so technically he can’t harm us according to dwarf law. Instead, I return his glare with as much remorse as I can fake—which admittedly isn’t much.

Am I sorry I flattened his idiot son’s nose? Hell no. The handsy pervert needs to learn that clan guest doesn’t mean he can take liberties with Stonecrusher women.

Glint, the heir to the Brackenbuell clan, stands behind his father Chief Oghark as always. The explosion of blood drying to a crust in his patchy beard scruff diminishes his ever-present smug confidence.

Damn, that feels great. 

I hate most of the Brackenbuell clan, but Glint is by far the one I hate most. 

Who wouldn’t hate such an entitled goatfucker?

“Look at me, you little prick,” Oghark snaps as he grabs my chin in his meaty paw. “Do you not think I have more important things to oversee than your constant need for discipline?” 

The silence that follows suggests he expects a response. 

“Sorry, Chief. I know your days are full of important and strenuous duties.” 

Between the beatings, the drinking, and the whoring, it’s a wonder you can even stand.

Oghark nods, having gotten the answer he wanted. “I realize Clan Stonecrusher is a bunch of inbred dimwits, but even you must realize the life I’ve given you is a privilege. You have stone over your head and food in your belly. Without me and mine, you and yours would have nothing.”

Wait—am I supposed to be thankful now?

“I can only surmise that you act out because your mother doesn’t know how to raise an obedient dwarfling. Here you are, thirty years later, and still haven’t learned an ounce of respect.”

Seriously? Now he’s badmouthing my mom? I might die, but he needs to learn he can’t talk crap about Nerak Spudsticker.

I try to get up, but the guard’s firm hand on my shoulder keeps me on my knees. Oghark isn’t looking my way, so he doesn’t see. Gharrad isn’t looking at me either, but his intervention is understood.

He knows me so well.

Oghark’s wandering oration brings his focus back to me. 

“What do you have to say for yourself? Do you enjoy being disciplined?”

Yeah, this is what I live for after my morning pig slop. ‘Bending the knee’ on a rough-hewn granite floor because your pervert son tried to grope my best friend’s sister. 

Nope. That speech won’t go over well. Maybe a different kind of honesty.

“Chief, I hate being here as much as you hate me here. We see each other a lot, but you’re right—nothing changes. Glint and his goons corner the young females of my clan, and your guards don’t protect them. While dwarf women are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, the strength of our dwarf girls hasn’t fully developed. If we can’t count on your guards to keep us safe from your son, that duty falls to someone else, and that’s me. It’s a sad truth, but there you have it.”

His scowl reflects his displeasure with my message, but his unwavering glare tells me I have his full attention. 

Time to push my luck.

“If you never want to see me again, ask your flat-nosed son to keep his hands to himself. Respect for your clan guests will get the same respect in return.”

Glint smirks. Getting mouthy with his father is never a good idea. We all know it doesn’t matter what Glint does to our clan. As the chief’s eldest son, he is the pride and joy of Clan Brackenbuell and does no wrong. 

The stone in the ground doesn’t run deeper than my hatred for that snot-goblin.

Oghark’s scarred lip twitches, pulling grotesquely on his cheek. Smiling isn’t a good look for him. “You’re a scrapper, Waldorf. I’ll give you that much. At least one member of the Stonecrusher rabble has a bit of backbone. That, I respect.”

Well, that’s unexpected.

“Still, the teachings of our All-Father, Alghar, tell us, ‘No dwarf shall raise a hand in anger against another dwarf.’ Yet you struck Glint. You do it all the time. I don’t believe those teachings specifically mention violence against the chief’s son as being uniquely heinous, but I feel confident Alghar would agree it should be.”

High Priest Kunar sagely rubs his chin and nods. “I concur, My Chief.”

 “I thought as much.” Chief Oghark chuckles, his gaze slowly turning dark. “I agree with you on one point, though. Glint, it’s time for you to learn a lesson.”

Oh yeah! Glint is finally going to get what he deserves.

“As the future leader of Brackenbuell, you will be required to evaluate the actions of your clan, as well as your own.”

Yes. Here it comes.

“You’ll look at the situation presented before you and need to visualize the result of your decisions. Our actions as leaders change the lives of those under our protection. Occasionally, you’ll realize you erred in your decision-making, and your choice has hurt those under your charge.”

 Yes! I got through to Oghark. Glint is finally going to feel the pain. 

Chief Oghark paces, the adoration of his elite entourage following him around the room. “There are other times when your clan needs you to make the hard decision, to send a clear message, so there is no doubt who is in charge.”

Stones and bones. Read that wrong. 

 “And so, Glint, your clan needs you to decide—is Waldorf’s crime forgivable? Is his crime as heinous as it seems? If you think it’s the latter, you’ll need to make a few hard decisions. Will you increase his punishment? Jail him?”

 Shitballs, this is quickly going from bad to worse.

“A clan guest disrespected you, the heir to the throne, after we saved every possible member of his clan during the elven onslaught. A hero’s effort that no one can deny.” 

As Oghark speaks, the elites punctuate his points with loud affirmations, pumping their fists. 

Yep. I’m screwed.

“Even if you ignore the disrespect and ungrateful attitude, there are other larger questions. What’s next, rebellion? How much do we tolerate?” 

Oghark works the room masterfully. 

“I leave the choice to you, son, but remember. Your clan is watching and listening.” 

Silence falls throughout the audience chamber, the eyes of the elite faction watching their heir with anticipation. 

Dammit. This is going to hurt.

The seconds turn into minutes as Glint processes his father’s words. Glint isn’t the sharpest axe on the rack, but even he knows the importance of his next words and the weight they bring to his future. 

“It’s obvious that Waldorf doesn’t appreciate your generosity, Father. It’s also clear that, for whatever reason, Waldorf needs to portray me as the villain. He’s twisting my casual conversations with this girl—Szara, was it?—into something depraved and unseemly. I was simply checking in with one of our clan guests.

“After all, we’re responsible for their safety and well-being. Well, responsible until they pay off their debt to us for saving and supporting them. These things cost money, you know.” 

The elites must be dizzy from all their nodding. 

“Once they’ve paid that debt, I’ll wish them well and send them on their way.”

 The chamber echoes with mumbles of “Good riddance.”

Glint raises his hands to the elite faction, signaling for silence.

“We reduced his food rations in the past, thinking this would tamp down his energy like water on a fire. Unfortunately, that did nothing. This time, I propose something different.” 

Here it comes. 

Once again, the audience hall falls silent to hear Glint’s ruling. All eyes are on their golden boy.

Almost all eyes.

I watch Oghark through it all. His smile never wavers throughout Glint’s speech. 

Pride comes in many forms, I suppose. 

Like his father, Glint circles the audience chamber, gesticulating to stir excitement. “We will continue to reduce his rations, naturally. Why waste good food when it’s unappreciated?” The bobbing heads of the elite faction reflect their agreement. “Waldorf’s real problem is his desire to fight.”

I don’t like where this is going.

“So I’m going to beat the fighting spirit out of him. I’ll do it every day if necessary until he’s no longer a threat to our clan. Cleansing this problem from our noble stronghold, once and for all, is my priority.”

An onslaught of cheers washes over me, the elites yelling praise for their heir while they take turns slapping their golden boy on the back. His first attempt at rulership seems to be a success.

The measure of success depends on which side you’re on.

The cheers of the elites aren’t subsiding. Glint’s speech has worked them into a frenzy. At least their deafening support drowns out the non-stop backslapping. 

“Waldorf thinks I’m the problem? Fine. I’ll fight him, but I promise you this, brothers—I’ll beat his hairy butt to the ground each day until he’s no longer a threat.”

Yep. They hate me.

“In the spirit of sportsmanship—”

What? Since when?

“I offer Waldorf time in the healer’s ward, one day out of three. We’re not barbarians, after all.”

The elite reply with, “You’re too kind” or “He doesn’t deserve it.”

 “However, if he plays possum and stays in the healer’s ward for longer than a day, he loses the privilege of our healers’ touch.”

Will they ever stop cheering? A guy might start feeling bad about himself.

“Last, and in my opinion most importantly, Waldorf has to apologize to me.”

Screw that. 

Beat the crap out of me? Fine. Starve me? No loss. Make me apologize to this entitled pervert when he started it? That’s my limit. 

A hand gently touches my back. I know it’s Gharrad without looking. I assume it’s his way of reminding me to hold my tongue for once. 

Gharrad’s been present every time my poor judgment got the better of me. Every fight, every verbal outburst, every rude gesture—he was there. Without fail, the beatings were brutal. 

I can still hear his guidance the last time he carried me back to my house after Glint and the goatfuckers left me pissing blood for a week. “Use your head, lad, instead of your fists. You’ll accomplish more and hurt less.”

I draw a deep breath to steady my mind, and out comes the goatshit.

“Glint.” His name comes out like a curse. I feign some remorse. I hope it passes as sincerity. 

“The fault is mine. I shouldn’t have beaten you or your friends down or smashed your nose. I humbly ask forgiveness and will pay your price.”

Oghark raises his tankard toward me in a mock salute to my apology, then spits on the floor.

“Long live the Clanless, a herd of selfish thieves and liars who refused to share their wealth.” In one last draw, Chief Oghark empties his tankard. Rivulets of mead and froth spill past the corners of his mouth and down his matted beard. 

I learned my part in this play a long time ago.

“Long live Chief Oghark, the wisest of all chiefs.” The words taste like wet ashes in my mouth. 

Similar to breakfast. 

Chief Oghark’s empty tankard clangs as he smashes it against the stone table, his signal for a refill. He turns to his son and drapes one massive arm around his shoulders.

“It’s settled then. Waldorf gets half rations and has the honor of being the training partner of our heir apparent. Let us all hope this cures this rebellious upstart of his contrary nature, or he dies trying to better himself. Frankly, either is an acceptable outcome. A good ruling, son.” 

Glint shuffles on the dirty floor. Chief Oghark’s expression of pride switches to annoyance. It’s a childhood habit of Glint’s, indicating he’s about to say something he knows his father won’t like. We’ve all seen it before.

“Chief, I know you don’t want our clan guests to be armed, but when I spar with him and he has no weapon, I knock him out way too easily. It’s like fighting a dwarfling.” 

Oghark’s caterpillar eyebrows almost touch his receding hairline as he turns his head toward his son. Rarely does Glint challenge his father’s edicts. Perhaps Glint is drunk with power after his well-received ruling. 

Another ruler drunk with power. Like father, like son. 

“Father, I can’t be defeated by a no-talent Stonecrusher idiot. It won’t happen. Trust me, I’ve got this, but I need a challenge. Please, Father. Can I give him a weapon to make the fight more real?” His begging undermines any authority he gained.

Oghark’s furrowed brow says volumes before his gravelly voice says one word. 

“Even a weak and dimwitted Stonecrusher whelp poses a threat, given the right circumstances. No armor or sword. My decision stands.”

Glint makes a noise to argue, but Oghark’s raised hand stops any discussion. With a dismissive wave, he ends this audience session. 

“Get up, lad.” Gharrad hisses behind me, poking my shoulder. 

I hiss back. “I…I can’t move. I’m a bloody mess, Gharrad. Everything is either on fire or asleep. Can you help me out?”

Gharrad’s calloused hands lift me off the floor and manhandle me like a sack of potatoes. So much for walking out with my head held high. 

Gharrad shoves me through the double doors, my seized knees unable to stop my forward momentum as I crash headlong into the wall. 

“This is not good news for you, young Waldorf. You might have finally pushed the Chief and his son too far. I understand why the women of your clan have spoiled you and Mallick as the last two Stonecrusher males. If they had enforced more discipline, you wouldn’t act with such self-indulgence.”

“Mal and I don’t need discipline, and we’re only self-indulgent because we need a laugh. Indentured servitude does that to a guy.”

Gharrad shakes his head. “Your disrespect of Chief Oghark and Glint will get you killed. You might not like them, but you need to respect the power they wield.”

“I appreciate the advice, Gharrad. I really do.” I try to use the wall to help me stand, but my legs won’t hold my weight yet. 

“No, no. Don’t try to get up yet. Stay down and give your blood a chance to flow but be on your way quickly after that. Glint and his friends might not want to wait until your scheduled ‘training event.’ Be wary.”

Gharrad leaves me crumpled in a pile against the wall as he returns to the audience hall, his departure punctuated by the slamming double doors. He’s not exactly a friend, but he is one of the few Brackenbuell guards who treat my clan with some level of respect.

Slumped against the wall, I fight through my dizziness from the headlong crash. Damn, I wish the blood would start flowing through my arms and legs instead of my bruised brain.

Gharrad’s right. I need to get moving before Glint and his posse find me.

Feet shuffle in the corridor behind me. 

Damn. Too late.

It doesn’t look like Waldorf is going to get a fair shot here. Find out what happens next on June 20th when Stonecrusher Legacy Book 1: The Uprising is released. Until then head over to Amazon and pre-order it today.