Gone the smell of Iron

Gone the ringing forge

Abandoned, rusted dreams of auld.

Renew the flames, the fire,the lust

Bring back steel, my life, and trust.

-From the lays of T. Wayland

Renovations on the smithy had been going well. It had only been a few days but The forge had been cleaned out, and the cast-iron fire pan chipped free of a prior old clay lining. I finished smoothing on the new clay freshly dug from the pit behind the shop. The two young boys assigned to me by Harold were busy sweeping out the place and sorting through the smaller tools.

Old scraping knives, tongs, and jigs had been scoured clean with fresh sand. Files had been brushed and sorted out. We found a bender set for cold forming door hinges, along with several usable sizing rods. The new bellows gaskets had arrived. With luck, the first live fire would be struck tomorrow. This was largely because the keep had its own leather maker and carpenter, among other things. Like any good medieval establishment it was virtually a community unto itself. Chord appeared pleased and promised me more useful help soon. Despite my urging, he wouldn't discuss details. Chord, I noted, was something of an entrepreneur and expected to hire out forge work to the village and supply the surrounding residents. Therefore I didn't doubt that more help would be forthcoming, but patience is not one of my gifts.

Dimanda returned from the farms heading a column of bearers laden with baskets of grain, onions, potatoes, smoked meats and other staples. I stopped to watch as she swayed up the hill. Her well tanned form had an energy and a bounce to it I found endearing. She waved and detouring towards the forge, stopped to talk to me.

"So, you decided to take work here with us it seems. How do you find the forge?"

"Better and better every day. I'll be starting the fire soon. The work keeps my mind occupied, anyway. You were awhile at the farms. I wanted to thank you for your kindness. Do you often take such long trips and alone?"

She wrinkled her nose and shrugged, glanced back at the bearers who were stacking supplies against the keep's rear. Doors to a root cellar erupted from the ground there, the destination for most of the goods. Then she turned her sparkling eyes back to me where they played a melody or two on my soul.

"Alone? Why, think you the baron's daughter needs escort in her own demesne? Do I look feeble, slow, pregnant or foolish? No," she relented, "just twice a year, these trips. Pardon, William. I forget you come to us from strange shores. I went to set the quantities of the harvest tithes and the delivery dates, discuss their needs for father's services and when they would like them. I have friends there so a lot of visiting, as well as business goes on. Did you get to talk to father about your problems?"

"I told him what I told you, which is all of it that I know. He feels it will take time to sort out anything. Likely, I will be here a good while."

Dimanda's smile seemed to turn inward for a moment then she turned away briskly saying, "I have to tell father about the arrangements struck with the farmers, William, and see to these supplies. We can talk later...you can tell me all about this place you come from and how women comport themselves there."

I had planned a short trip to the village where I hoped to purchase some salts and oil for quenching and tempering. Since Dimanda could spare me no further attention and having put my foot firmly in my mouth with her, I reluctantly refocused on that. I had traded some rivets to Benton, the keep's general artificer, tanner and leather worker, in return for a sword sheath of my design. Tired of trying to keep the blade from dragging in the dirt and cutting my belt, I had designed a sort of back sling harness for it. Buckling it on, I set forth to try my luck with the village merchants.

The village main street looked as though someone had 'painted the town red.' It being the cheapest pigment color available save for black, and every stall was splashed with it complementing the natural tans and grays of the raw oxidized wood constructions. The place smelled like an old oak barrel, and everywhere men and women in a mix of homespun and softened hide clothes bustled about their affairs.

The first shop I investigated appeared to be a dry goods store. The owner, a portly fellow, turned as I entered raising his eyebrows at my dress. The close woven cotton seemed to evoke this however harshly used. It marked me as a stranger, but in a village of this size not something I could hide anyway.

"How may I be of service sir? What brings you to Tennman's this day?"

" I am here on behalf of Mage Chord," I said. "With my help he is reopening the forge. There are some supplies we are minus, salt for one, oil for another. Do you carry either of these?"

Tennamen considered. "Salt? Oil? To be sure I do, Sir. Mage Chord, you say? My pardon, sir. I am used to dealing with Master Harold about such matters... But yes. Your name, sir?"

I introduced myself and explained that I would be running the forge for the keep. I stayed away from asking questions that would inevitably bring up my origin. Information flows both ways in conversation and I prefer to keep some things to myself until I knew more of a place and the people in it. So I kept the topic to business. I have spent most of my life moving from place to place, both before and after my stint in the military. Keeping my mouth shut and my eyes open in new situations is a hard earned knee jerk habit, which my current problems only reinforced.

"Ah! Master William, so you will be the new Blacksmith, then. What amounts will you be needing?"

He was willing to trade a barrel of each for a dozen flat hinges but wanted the hinges to complete the trade, which vexed, since I needed the salt for tomorrow. Strolling from shop to shop talking to the merchants produced similar stories everywhere. Most knew Chord well, but I would have to drag him through a gaggle of shops to set up each account. This would be fine for some things but even the town tailor needed the arrangement in order for me to purchase britches and other personal items, which left me at a loss. I returned to the keep frustrated, deep in thought. Obviously this place needed some replacement for the current system of direct barter. One that didn't require a pocket full of gemstones or sack of bulky trade items.

Stolen novel; please report.

A red blot bobbled down the tan path toward me as I trudged up the final turn toward the keep. I was amused, not to say startled, to see Chord, floating towards me suspended a foot above the roadway, legs ending in a pair of unusually shiny black boots. The mage pulled up just in front of me with a gesture. He ignored my amazed interest in his mode of travel and pulled my attention from the boots with a query.

"Getting the lay of the land, eh?" noted Chord. "I asked Dimanda to fetch some fresh bedding for you. She should be bringing it by the forge before long. I have some tasks to do for the farms, for which we will need to gather up some Burlies. A hunt party is called for. I would like you to join it. You have no reservations, I trust?"

I knew this to be something I had to become familiar with here so reluctantly, I agreed to go.

Chord nodded, looking pleased. "Be at the keep's front when I return. Have Harold fill you in meantime." Again I agreed, and with another gesture the mage elevated and whisked off toward the farms. I returned briefly to the Smithy and rummaged around a bit, checked on my two helpers, then went on to report to Harold.

"Mage Chord will open a fist sized portal to the demon plane inside a cage trap we will set," he explained. "The opening will attract a Burlie and once it is trapped, we will haul it back here and release it in the oubliette. We repeat this until the light wanes or we have sufficient stock. The difficult part comes when more than one Burlie is attracted at the same time -- often the case, I am afraid. We are left having to chase off the surplus creatures. We do not want to kill or harm them if possible. But so strong is the attraction of the portal, they will not always be chased away with brands and noise, our usual strategy."

I looked at Harold. He was holding back, so I prompted, "What if they won't be chased off?"

Harold cast his eyes down and shrugged. "At such times they may even attack and needs must, we will slay them or herd them off by force of arms. This is a dangerous business for these are fierce beasts, sly and long of claw and reach. We do everything we can to avoid these kinds of confrontations, but they happen and at such times it is more like a small war than a hunt, mark you."

Harold waited, measuring my reaction with his eyes. I have experience with game hunting, even bear and peccary, so I knew generally what he meant. Since I made no comment he continued. "This is important work, not sport. Without the Burlies we cannot barter with demons. Then all suffer for want of those things our magic alone provides. Not every expedition is fruitful of late but sometimes the numbers attracted are so great we must withdraw, should they be inclined to violence. You are chosen because you own good steel and are strong. On the other hand, do not forget you are new to this game and heed Chord carefully. Be wary, always. Maiming and even death is not unknown on these outings."

I agreed to follow carefully any instructions given. Changing the discussion I related my experiences in the village, asking the Seneschal for his advice. Harold looked amused.

"The villagers tend to be suspicious of newcomers as a matter of principle. Either Chord or I will go with you next time to set things right with the most important shopkeepers. You will find, after a time that things will be easier. Some effort spent socializing in the village, in your free time of course, will work wonders. Gemstones and other portable trade goods are best for large purchases. I would advise against their use for small affairs as you will end up with credit beyond your need with too many merchants. It would be best to keep what you can in hand for future use."

"Why won't they accept some sort of script? I am sure the king doesn't do all his business by bartering services and staples," I replied.

"True enough," agreed Harold, "but the king's letters of credit are hand signed, contain his seal, and are delivered by his royal agents appropriately and backed by his lands and treasury. I doubt hand signed notes by your own good self would hold such esteem, besides which, forgery is not very likely in the king's case, given the care taken in delivery."

"I might be able to make some embossed metal markers that would be difficult to fake. If I could do you think the local villagers would accept them based on the output of the forge?"

Harold considered this. "Possibly, but what benefit would that be?"

"For small purchases the markers could be easily transported and could be based on a small enough worth in work, say a half hour's labor to make personal accounts unnecessary. Since the forge would honor all bearers they could be traded freely for a diversity of purposes between the vendors and workers, or accumulated for larger work processes here at the forge. I, at least, would find it convenient to work that way."

Harold rubbed his chin, and grinned. "And we could produce as many of these tokens as we wish, and buy all based on the barter of the forge's future services? The idea holds merit."

I stared at the Seneschal for a moment, and then refined the concept. "Well, no. We would have to limit the tokens produced to some practical percentage of the forge's operational hours. Say initially only twenty percent or so. Otherwise, we could not guarantee redemption within a reasonable period. Besides, we might end up swamped with redemptions. I don't think Chord would want his tower besieged by angry creditors demanding hard goods, do you?"

"But as you say, it is likely many of the tokens might be hoarded or re-traded, or lost, never turning up for redemption at all!" The thought caused Harold to smile.

We argued the fine points of currency for a time, settling on a plan to put before Chord for about thirty percent of the forge's time. I pointed out that we could always control the release rate of the tokens to any speed we felt comfortable with. I promised to create some examples of calendared coinage to present within the week.

By the time Chord returned to the keep, Harold's two sons Dwayne and Einte, and two of Chord's apprentices had joined us. Chord appeared later accompanied by three farmers, which brought the number of men in our hunting party to ten. Harold's sons came dragging a wheeled cage with a long barred fork that gave ample purchase for four sets of hands. Everyone bore arms of some fashion, knives and pole-arms in the main.

Curiously, there were no bows present and when questioned, Chord responded, "We have no expert bowmen here, or professional men at arms such as the Duke maintains. I would not chance a fatality caused by a stray arrow in any case. Hand spears and such only. Besides the expense, we mean to capture the beasts alive, not slay them."

We looked more a motley brute squad than a hunting party. Before long, we were trudging down cloistered forest paths toward the craggy mountain slopes east of the farms. The idea of facing a nest of the horrifying creatures I had seen in the Tower's cave left me uneasy. Built as I am, the thought of physical confrontation rarely set my mind wandering such paths, but this particular kind of wildlife brought on different thoughts entirely. The fact they were manlike in form bothered me, as I had only Chord's word they were not sentient. I reminded myself that this was to be a live capture expedition, and soldiered on.

The men around me all wore somber expressions. There was no joking or chatter between them, and something of that infused me, though their obvious experience gave me comfort. Life here was more demanding and physical than I was used to, but for me, more fulfilling for all that. All I had left behind me seemed drawn in pastels, as opposed to the vivid colors that etched out this land. People gathered together here for purposes much more closely linked to survival. The interdependence was a tangible thing, not driven by social boredom, or convenience. It left me feeling...needed, on a level I have rarely experienced.

We walked for more than an hour pushing and hauling the considerable weight of the wood-wheeled metal cage over dirt trails. At some places we had to hack away overgrown sections of the path, or roll away deadwood but eventually we arrived at a vale nestled in the mountain roots.