Read Kender, Gully Dwarves, Gnomes for Free Online Page B

of his cave on the banks of the
     Meltstone River.
    “We don't want your kind in Digfel, you old miser. Go home to Hylar where you belong, and
     take your worthless gold with you!”
    The aged dwarf squinted in the general direction of the adult voice. His eyesight was
     terrible, even for his four hundred years. A blurry outline of a heavy human figure loomed
     in front of him, barring his way into Milo Martin's shop. It was obvious that he had to
     either push past the abusive speaker or retreat through his delinquent henchmen without
     buying winter provisions.
    “Remove your carcass from my path, and take your ill-bred issue with you!” Lodston
     shouted. Several of the spectators
    laughed at the old hermit's taunt. The blurry-faced speaker leaned closer, revealing his
     florid cheeks and filthy, tobacco-stained mouth to the dwarf's faded eyes.
    “You heard what I said, scum! Get out of Digfel before I feed your scrawny bones to my
     dogs!” blustered the fat townsman. Lodston smelled the odors of stale wine and unwashed
     human skin even before he could see the man's quivering red jowls. He grinned and gestured
     toward the beggar children.
    “If those are your mongrels, you ought to be more careful when you mate. You'll ruin your
     bloodline!” Lodston sneered and shook his quarterstaff in the drunk's face, which was
     darkening with rage as the catcalls grew louder.
    “You gonna let him talk to you like that, Joss?” someone goaded the drunk.
    “Kick that uppity dwarf in the teeth, if he's got any!” yelled one of the urchins.
    The drunken bully sputtered a curse and raised a beefy hand. In the same instant, Lodston
     muttered a single word with his bearded mouth pressed against the smooth shaft of his
     heavy staff. The stick of rare bronzewood glowed suddenly with an inner light and began to
     vibrate in the hermit's hand. The old dwarf seemed almost as surprised as everyone else by
     the force within the enchanted weapon and nearly dropped it. He clutched its shaft more
     tightly, feeling its inner power throbbing as it lifted itself in the air above the
     bully's head.
    Suddenly the staff descended repeatedly, faster than the eye could see, upon the head of
     Nugold Lodston's assailant. It appeared to the astonished onlookers as if it were a
     drumstick in the hands of a practiced drummer. Each blow landed with vicious force and
     accuracy, producing lacerations and bruises on the startled bully's scalp and face.
    “Run, Joss! It's a magical staff! He'll kill you!” The bully's eyes were blinded with his
     own blood from the wounds on his forehead. He backed away from Lodston's flashing staff,
     his hands raised in front of his face to ward off the unerring blows of the enchanted
     weapon. To the hermit's failing eyes, the scene was a muddled image of fleeing shapes as
     the street emptied. Digfel was a superstitious town, especially in the rough section where
     Milo Martin kept his store.
    “Get in here, Nugold, before they come back!” Martin's rotund figure was standing in the
     doorway of his shop. He was gesturing frantically for the hermit to come inside. The staff
     had already lost the aura summoned by the ancient command word, but the merchant's bulging
     eyes were staring greedily at it.
    The hermit grunted a minor dwarvish epithet to himself and pushed past the excited
     shopkeeper into the store. Smells of candlewax, oil, and soap mingled with those of wood
     smoke, spices, and leather - the comfortable and familiar odors of Martin's General Store.
     Lodston came to Digfel no more than four or five times a year, and this was one of the few
     places he liked to shop for provisions. Digfel was a rowdy human mining town on the
     outskirts of the dwarven mountains, steeped in fears and prejudices dating to the
     Cataclysm. Milo Martin's shop had a reputation as a brief haven amid the turmoil of the
     times, perhaps because Martin himself was such a tolerant