[Complete] When young Boone Rigger is pulled into the most fierce Gunslinger Tournament in the country, he must find the courage to kill, or be buried six feet underground.
The Iron Alchemist: Slinger Wars Book 1
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Grotknot's right eye twitched, staring at Boone like a suspect, penetrating deep as a serrated blade.
Boone wrapped his arms around himself. It didn't help that the cellar of the inn they were staying at was as cold as the short mans gaze. There was light, but not much, only a few candlelights, while the room smelt like his grandpappys old socks … The boy wanted to protest and suggest a different location, but the Bork had been grumbling all morning about training him, and the cellar was the only place with a working fireplace.
"What has your Grandpappy and school taught ya about alchemy?" Grotknot said with a boom, startling the boy upright. "Anything about creating Alchellets?"
Boone scratched his head. "I know how to make wart remedy …" Suddenly he was reminded of the crack of splintering wood and the roar of explosions. A thought came to his mind … Professor O'hare limbless in the hospital. He shook and frowned. "but last time I tried I nearly got everybody killed."
Grotknots thick eyebrows lifted while his eyes sparkled kind. "You're not the only one, Laddy." He looked to the fireplace covered in dusty, white webs. "I too nearly killed somebody…why I'm so hesitant to train ya."
It's true then …
The boy heard the bickers of Jostice and Grotknot that rang for an hour before they'd set off towards the inn... arguing so loudly he thought they were going to draw arms and shoot each other down right there in the street. Boone hadn't a clue why neither...thought he'd done something wrong but couldn't figure out what.
He spoke cautiously, "What happened?"
Grotknot knelt down and pulled a jagged-golden rock from his pocket, and it shone like light off glass, illuminating the room. "Lightstone…" He mumbled, rolling it between fingers. "A delicate alchemy of the Borks."
Boone felt drawn to the light. "What is it used for?"
"Mining...mostly," he said. "We Borks are known as the great miners of Primpin Mountains, so we developed lightstone … well it was by accident, really."
Boone stepped closer to the man, reminded of the days when Ma Jean told him grand tales.
The Bork grabbed a ladle, wiped it with a sleeve, then tossed it into the caldron. It rang. "There was a Bork named Mogburg the Bright … Not because he was a man of mind… But Because he forged the Lightstone." The man chuckled. "Anywho, he gathered a handful of snow to create a frost brew, unaware that an ice crystal was at the pit...and, so, when he put the snow into the pot, suddenly a beam of sunlight struck the cauldron — at the very moment the brew froze over — capturing the light inside the crystal." He shook his head. "It is a very delicate and tricky spell to master, and if done correctly it can not only act as light...but as a powerful weapon." Groknot closed his hand and slid the crystal in his pocket. "Now...to begin." He hoisted the cauldron and waddled over to a table at the center of the room. It slammed on top and the man heaved. "Do me a favor and grab a few of them bags over in the corner."
