Nolan - Iron Mage

T he blacksmiths forge I worked with Shaw revolved around a limited number of things, day in and day out. The roaring fire and glowing coals in the hearth. The repeating echo of hammer hitting worked steel above the constant rush of the river just outside. Half-formed blades, iron rings, broken hooks, dented horseshoes. Ash and sweat.

The forge itselfand Shaws two-room cottage nearbywas just over half a mile from the center of Cavennel, which meant even visitors from our painfully small town found the journey to our shop annoyingly long. Most of them liked to complain that the trip was more trouble than it was worth, but they came anyway for their orders of iron chain links and repairs to their plow hitches. A new handle for their cooking pot.

For the most part, I only had Shaws grizzled, black-bearded face to look at all day, and a few glances at that between projects was enough. So when the two womenstunning in more ways than onewho had no business whatsoever this far out into the Badlands appeared in the open doorway of our smithy, I thought Id imagined it. But only for a minute.

By the time the sun had risen and the birds challenged the roaring river with their own chaotic song that spring morning, the hearth had already been ablaze for an hour. The cool air blowing through both open doorways of the smithy was enough to keep it comfortable in there for now. But in the middle of the day, the heat was enough to make most men wilt. Id been raised here. The heat was never more than a reminder of where I was.

Javron, Shaw called from where he stood beside the workbench, go let the water in. He wiped the dripping foam from his beard and nearly slammed the empty tankard down onto the workbench. Every morning, he drank this tankard of ale weakened with water after breakfast and before getting to work.

I just filled the hearth, I replied, gesturing to the roaring flames and the fiery-red coals beneath them. It had burned long enough to heat our workpieces in it now. What have you done this morning?

Shaw slipped the loop of his leather apron over his head, tied it at the waist, then pulled on his battered, charred leather gloves. Gave you another morning with a roof over your head. Porridge and salt pork in your belly. A decent trade to keep you busy. And useful.

Smirking, I stripped off my tunic and turned to trade it for my own work apron hanging from the nail on the wall. Then I grabbed my gloves. Sounds like youre digging for a compliment.

Are you? A few half-hammered blades clinked together as he sifted through the pieces on the workbench, looking for his first to heat in the flames.

I wont have to when I finish this plow share for Kennike before you pick up your hammer. I waved the new rounded piece of iron at him, the best part being that what Id said was almost true. And he knew it.

Shaws massive head moved in a slow, steady nod, crushing his wild beard against his chest. Well see how fast you do anything when I throw you in the river.

Ill swim, I said, staring him down while he looked everywhere but back at me. He would have found me grinning when I added, Last time I checked, Im a better swimmer than you too.

That got his attention. The bear of a man, though still an inch or two shorter than I was, turned to look at me with his first workpiece gripped tightly in his gloved hand. His gray eyes stared at me, unblinking, beneath his thick black eyebrows. Go let the water in.

I didnt move until he looked away and turned his focus to the hearth. Then I draped my apron and gloves over the anvil on my side of the forge and headed toward what served as the back doorway, which was angled more toward the river. When I passed Shaw, I caught the twitch of a tiny smile beneath his bristling mustache. And I went to let the water in.

The man had built his own system for diverting the river water into the forge before I was old enough to work it. Just a simple series of sluice gates starting upriver from the smithy, where a calmer pool from a riverbed inlet fed extra water into the trough system leading right to the forge. A small, hidden waterwheel worked the bellows beneath the hearth. The extra water kept the quenching basins full, where we cooled the workpieces before starting the process all over again.

I took my time walking upriver to the first sluice gate, which opened simply by pulling the metal sheet up just enough to start the flow of water. Then I worked my way back down, pausing briefly to lift the three other gates along the trough system to keep the water moving. It was actually a beautiful day, with the rise of the gently sloping valley at my back and the morning sun on my face and bare chest. A normal day. Until I stepped through the open wall into the forge.

You should probably get to work now

I stopped. Shaw had stopped too, his hammer hanging from his right hand at his side as he stared straight ahead. But Id pretty much forgotten about him at this point. Because standing just outside the doorway on the opposite side of the smithy were the two most unexpected, out-of-place, exquisite women Id ever seen.

The taller one looked like she could have been from anywhere, though Id never seen a woman wear leather breeches the way this one did. They clung to her hips like they were soaking wet, rising just below her light, loose tunic cinched tightly enough around her narrow waist. Thick auburn hair was pulled back at the top, but the rest of it fell over the shoulders of her gray cloak almost to the swelling curve of those hips. Her brown eyes flickered toward me and stayed there.

The other woman was maybe half a foot shorter, her blonde hair nearly shining silver in the morning light behind them. This one was slimmer all around, more petite, though there was nothing remotely fragile-looking about her, either. The blonde was clearly not from anywhere in the Badlands, where a richly dyed, finely embroidered cloak like hers was an open invitation for attack. Perhaps she already knew this and didnt care. But the detail she couldnt hide was in the pointed tips of her ears peeking just enough through the satiny curtain of her hair to be unmistakable. She was an elf.

Then the dark-haired woman stepped one booted foot over the threshold, returned her urgent gaze to Shaw, and said, I hope youre taking new work.

T he woman had obviously been speaking to Shaw, but he wasnt the only blacksmith here. If its for you, love, I said, Im sure we could make it work.

Her dark eyes flickered toward me again, and she actually turned her nose up at me. Then she returned her attention to the man to whom shed obviously assumed this smithy belonged. She was right, of course; it did technically belong to Shaw. But he didnt handle anywhere near the number of pieces or the quality of finished products I did.

Shaw finally found his ability to speak again. What did you have in mind?

The dark-haired woman turned over her shoulder and glanced back out across the meadow. It was a little odd, seeing as we were so far removed from anyone else in Cavennel and there were no main thoroughfares for anyone to travel and see these two unexpectedly lovely visitors at our doorstep. Just the overgrown footpath leading to our smithy. I wondered what kind of person she was trying not to be seen by, especially dressed like that.

I need a staff, the woman said.

Shaw grunted. Carpenters back in town.