Free Rise of the Blood Masters (Book 5) by Kristian Alva Page A

dwarves succeeded in saving most of the goats. The goats were breeding again, so they had cheese and meat. And luckily, the orchards outside the mountain never stopped producing fruit.
    A few more industrious dwarves managed to cultivate tracts of rye outside the mountain, so this year, they even had bread. Things were getting better. Slowly.
    While they did have enough to eat these days, everything was still less plentiful than before, and food choices were limited. The days when one could choose between dozens of varied fruits and vegetables were over.
    Skemtun glanced around him, knowing how bad things had gotten. They had simply ignored the problems for too long.
    Why did we let it get this bad?
    Skemtun shook his head as he passed through an empty corridor. It was a question he had no answer for. “If only we had fixed it sooner,” Skemtun said under his breath. “It would ‘ave been a lot less work for everybody.”
    He sighed. One step at a time.
    Two young dwarves swung out into the corridor, chatting and laughing. Gazing down at his feet, Skemtun didn’t even notice until they bumped into him.
    “Whoops! Sorry, old man,” one said. “I didn’t see ye there.”
    Skemtun looked up and saw a familiar face. It belonged to his cousin, Garaek, the youngest son of his sister Marna. If he remembered correctly, Garaek had just turned thirty this year. “That’s all right, son,” Skemtun replied. “Where ye lads headed?”
    “To the mead hall!” the other one said, clapping Skemtun so hard on the back that he sputtered. “We need a stiff drink an’ a hot meal. Ye should join us!” They laughed and carried on their way.
    Skemtun’s face lifted. What a great idea! A break is what I need . If there was one thing he wanted, it was a good meal in the company of friends.
    He changed direction and hurried down the corridor that led to the mead hall. The hall was positioned at the end of the market, and since it was market day, all the tables were full.
    Fruits and vegetables, mushrooms and meat; the tables were piled high, though not as high as they once had been. Skemtun could remember the days when sellers would simply give away the older produce. But now, even rotting vegetables, overripe fruit, and green-tinged meat were all sold and used for something.
    He paused at the entrance and scanned the huge room. The hall was filled to capacity and bustled with activity. The Vardmiters weren’t allowed here anymore, but dwarves from every other clan walked around, chatting and doing business.
    Old dwarves played cards near the fireplace, and children played up and down the aisles. There were a few humans, too, merchants from the outside.
    It was a communal gathering place—a cafeteria, meeting room, and a recreation space all in one. Skemtun squeezed through a large group of stonecutters and went inside.
    Torchlight reflected off the ornate metalwork on the tables and chairs. Iron spears and animal skins hung on the walls. The scents of ale and cooking food filled the air, making his stomach rumble. He passed by other dwarves in his clan, waving and saying hello. Sometimes he stopped to talk, but he tried to keep the conversations short.
    The more he smelled food, the more he wanted it. Pushing through the crowds, Skemtun found a seat at a smaller table near the kitchen. He caught the eye of a serving girl and motioned with his finger. The young woman stopped wiping tables and walked over to him.
    “Hello, Skemtun. Haven’t seen ye in a while.” she said with a smile.
    “I’ve been busy, ye know,” he replied.
    “Haven’t we all? Now then, what’ll ye be havin’ today?”
    He thought for a moment, looking at the giant painted menu above the kitchen doors. “I’ll ‘ave a goat platter with mushrooms. Do ye have any bread today?”
    She shook her head. “Nay, not today. There’s no flour until next week.”
    “Too bad. How ‘bout one o’ those fancy honey cakes?” he asked. “I’d like one o’