Darius Chapter 40

The Barringvale Forge was...impressive.

But dysfunctional.

The place was arranged – and decorated – in the same manner as the other buildings in the kingdom that were ‘sponsored’ by the royal family. The floors were pristine yellow marble with intricate painted pavers outlining where each of the various benches and workstations were supposed to be placed. The tools and smaller pieces of equipment were not spread out on a large table or hung up on a wall-rack, they were instead placed on fluffy velvet in glass cases that each required a key to unlock. These cases were spread around the Forge, placed hither and thither where they happened to ‘work’ with the surrounding décor.

As a man interested in productivity, it was a nightmare.

Darius started by heating up the forge – when things go sideways, return to the basics. He then cleared a large area in the middle of the space and dragged a patchwork of tables and benches into the middle, forming an island. He strode around the forge with a loop of keys, unlocking and extricating the tools from the velvet boxes. Then, he spread a large piece of canvas over the bench and laid them on it.

First step down - none of this finicky bullshit.

To rid the Barringvale Forge of its pretentious appearance even further, he reached into the hot forge and gathered a handful of coals from around the edges. In the three weeks of being away from the forge, his hands had lost some of their leathery, hard skin, and he felt the heat more than usual, opting to drop the coals and take some cooler ones from next to the brick perimeter.

He rolled them in his hands, crushing them into a mound of coal dust and some bigger pieces. Dividing his creation between two hands, he cast the dust into the air, spreading a black cloud around the forge. The powder settled, cloaking the tools, floor, and workstations in a layer of grime.

Perfect. Just the way a forge should be.

Happy with his decorations, Darius took stock of his supplies. Being a more artistically inclined kingdom than Erinstone, he was expecting a mix of materials, perhaps gold and platinum.

He wasn’t disappointed. A curtained-off entrance at the back of the forge opened out into a dark room where sturdy wooden boxes reinforced with iron studs were stacked on top of one another. He could see a shy glint coming from the top of an open box, revealing a full crate of gold ingots.

Didn’t that guy say something about theft issues? There’s not even a guard outside the forge.

He’d have to ask about that - if he was going to sleep here, he didn’t want to be up all night worrying about thieves coming in and taking the gold, then disposing of the witnesses. After he and Falsith had been jumped by Lieutenant Stringer and his crew, Darius had become quite a light sleeper for the rest of their journey, sometimes waking up in the middle of the night to a particularly enthusiastic cricket.

He was more interested in iron than he was gold. Although his magic seemed to strengthen the imbued metal as well as attach the spell to it, he figured it would be best to go with the material he knew would be sturdy. A strengthened gold weapon - even if it was twice as durable - would be carved through like butter as soon as its wielder parried a strike or delivered one of their own.

When the forge was hot, he threw an ingot into a crucible and let it sit, twiddling his thumbs and preparing a mold while he waited. Bart would’ve usually had the forge at a ripping hot temperature by the time he was ready to start his work.

I wonder if Barringvale has an apprentice smith for me. Would be tough to live up to Bart.

He chose to make a wide-bladed dagger. By himself, it would be easy to empty the molten iron into the mold with just two hands, but for tools and weapons much bigger than that, it was helpful to have one person steadying the mold and guiding the crucible while a second person poured.

This early in the morning, Barringvale was quiet. The Forge sat on an eastern crest, and the view of the sunrise was unforgettable. The beauty of all the gold in all the crates out the back paled in comparison to the rays glistening out over the plains, filtering through the morning mist and battling through the edges of the forest until the dense shrubbery blocked its curious eyes.

He didn’t mind waiting for the iron to melt when he had this view. After a tumultuous and draining few days, a bit of time on his hands was to die for.

His melancholy was interrupted by the sound of someone stumbling in.

“Darius? You in there mate?”

Marth’s voice.

Darius went back inside the forge and greeted the prince.

“Didn’t expect to see you in here so early! Thought you’d be getting your beauty sleep.”

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“You could do with some yourself.”

Darius threatened him with a pair of tongs. He glanced at the crucible and noticed the iron was at a color ready to be poured – a mix of red and orange.

“Help with this, would you? I was gunna do it myself, but it won’t hurt to have your extra pair of hands. Just steady the mold when I’m pouring – like that, yep.”

Marth clamped down on the edges of the mold where he would be safe from any stray globules of molten iron. His hands weren’t quite as heat resistant as Darius’s - calloused by the hilt of his sword and his spear, not by hot coals. Darius held the crucible with two sets of tongs, one clamped on each side, and angled the vessel so that the liquid inside came out in a continuous stream, filling the mold just to the brim. As soon as the iron came out of the furnace, it began to cool, and Marth could see the edges start to lose the molten quality. He took his hands off and checked with Darius.

“Anything else? I could do this apprentice stuff no problem!”

Darius looked back into the crucible, sloshing it around to see how much was left.

“Yeahhh, we might be able to get an arrowhead out of this – there're two things I want to try anyway, so we may as well.”

He showed Marth where the arrowhead molds were, then took a funnel off the workbench. It had a wide top – wider than an ordinary funnel, and it narrowed down into a stem just wide enough that the thick globules of molten iron would go through.

“Alrighty, we’ll want the iron a biiit hotter so that it’s nice and thin. Then you’re just going to hold the funnel over the mold, okay? Make sure your hands are right at the edges, it’ll get hot.”

Marth looked nervous but did as he was told. He found an indented edge around the top of the funnel, and grasped it with three fingers from each hand, eager to avoid the molten metal Darius was about to pour.

“Off you go then. She’s nice and centered.”

“Very good! Now hold her steady.”

The remnants of the crucible slopped into the funnel, filling it slightly when the liquid didn’t go down as fast as Marth expected. He had the urge to shake the funnel side to side before realizing this was metalwork, not baking – not that he had much experience in either.

“Now set that down and steady this dagger while it’s still hot, and grab that book over there, will you?”

Marth did as he was told, returning with the book and passing it to Darius. He flicked through a few pages until he found a page titled ‘The Strike Spell’. He laid the book on the bench and turned to Marth.

“Alright, I’d like to try a new spell that I found in one of Grandpa Krevalitz’s old books. Ma says he picked it up from some travelling merchants just after I left.”

Marth looked apprehensive but curious. He still hadn’t seen the magical smithing in action.

“So, I’m guessing I might not want to be too close to this when you’re whacking it with that bally old thing?”

He gestured at the hammer on Darius’s belt.

“Quite the contrary! You’ll steady it all the way until the final blow. I promise I won’t imbue you with anything – Bart did this for me a million times.”

“Sounds like you built Erinstone quite the army.”

If he hadn’t known Marth better, Darius might’ve thought it was an accusation. He knew better.

“Alright up you get, I’ve got good aim, don’t worry.”

He cracked the dagger mold and left the raw work sitting on the anvil, with Marth steadying the piece with a pair of giant tongs that he clasped shut with two hands. The dagger was still red hot in the center, and cooling around the edges – a convenient temperature to work with. He began by taking some measured strikes, flattening the top of the blade where the last dribbles of iron had settled and started to cool. He asked Marth to flip the weapon and worked on the other side, hammering out any bubbles and other infractions in the weapon.

When he was satisfied with the general shape, he took the weapon and dunked it in cold water, then sat down at the grindstone. He stamped two pedals with his feet, sending the wheel spinning at a rapid pace. He held the edges of the blade to it, sharpening them.

When he finished, he came back to the anvil and set the dagger on top. He unclipped his hammer again.

“Marth, you might want to step back for this one. It’s generally fine to be around, but this is a new spell, and I don’t know exactly what will happen.”

Marth escaped and stood half-crouching at the other end of the bench before Darius had even finished his sentence. For such a capable warrior, he was as jumpy as a feral cat.

He practiced the spell under his breath, keeping his mind clear.

“Et...meeno. Et-meeno. Et-mino, etminoetminoetmino.”

“Et-mino.”

Satisfied with the tongue twister, he took a deep breath and raised his hammer. It was no longer difficult to bring strong emotions to the forefront of his mind. Recently, all his emotions had been strong ones.

He brought the hammer down, slamming into the dagger.

“ET-MINO!”

Light exploded from the piece and a shimmering arc blasted from the tip of the blade, severing a leg of the wooden bench and sending it toppling down to the side, exposing Marth’s shocked face at the end.

A green beam of light jetted from the anvil, and the same tendrils appeared like the first time, rising in conjoined pairs, swirling through the air and swimming to the ceiling. The spectacle lasted long enough for Marth to come over, reaching his hand out to touch the curious light. Darius knocked his hand away with a fire poker.

“Steady on there. That only happens the first time I imbue a spell – best not mess with things we don’t know about.”

The sight was beautiful, but frightening. It was an unknown power, gifted to him for unknown reasons, and he wasn’t about to take chances with it. Not yet.

“That was marvelous Darius! Glad I wasn’t nearby though; it whipped the leg off that table like it was nothin’!”

Darius hadn’t expected it, but he remembered back to when he’d used Es-shen for the first time, and how it had blown Bart back into a pile of sand.

“Aye, that green beam and the floating mites only happen the first time I imbue the spell. I think it might also use the spell too. From here on out, it shouldn’t lash out like that when I imbue it.”

Marth was keen to see more. He knew the Erinians would be back, and he wanted to be prepared.

“So what’s next? What new abomination have you got cooked up for me?”

Darius retrieved Rath’s Ruminations from the floor where it had tipped off the table, and turned to the back, flicking through to one of the final pages.

“Well, there’s this one that I thought would be convenient for use on arrows. It’s called ‘The Inferno Spell’.”

Marth looked around the Forge at all the flammable banners and cloths that decorated the space. He was starting to realize the absurdity of the interior design.

“Right. Any chance that’s going to send this place up in a blaze of glory when you imbue it?”

Darius was already lugging the anvil into a cart.

“Aye. Let’s see if we can do this outside.”