Chapter 27: The Blacksmith

Miro met the sunrise on the open road. As someone who was raised by Bondook, it wasn’t the first time he watched the pale morning sun peek over the horizon, and much like with all the previous times, it was while he was doing grueling work that he abhorred. He had discovered that he was a slower walker without Nydra or Hima setting the pace. Another reason for his sluggishness, as much as he hated to admit, was that the going was easier with some companionship, even if it was Hima’s constant sub-surface fuming. He guessed that it was why he didn’t so much mind the thought of Bondook’s company now that he was out of it, and why he was willing to make the lengthy journey back to him.

Right around that time was when their little band of four would have been making its way down to breakfast, and Miro wondered how long it would take them to realize that he hadn’t just slept in. The thought of them awake made it seem like the distance he’d put between them was not long enough, so he picked up the pace.

In less than an hour, he chanced upon a sign that pointed off the main road to a small township called East Bolot that lay in a shallow river valley. Figuring he’d have a better chance of laying low by not blindly retracing his steps, Miro followed the rocky terrain, with dark green grasses growing in every crevasse, down to East Bolot’s town centre. It was a smaller town than Silver Crag, where the inn he’d left behind that morning had been, though there was a number of streets with local vendors, one of which was a smithy.

Miro recalled then the conversation he had with Hima on their way back from the razorback nest, though recalling it as a conversation may have been a generous way to perceive the terse lecture he’d received, about the other way mages made their way in the world – by entering careers that suited their skillset. The smithy, based on what little he knew about smithies, seemed to be like the perfect place for him. Fire was fire, right?

The door to the blacksmith’s shop was open slightly, the sounds of its proprietor getting ready for the day coming from within, so Miro let himself inside. The blacksmith was as Miro would have expected any blacksmith to be (which made him think that maybe his knowledge of smithies was spot on as well) – a thick leather apron, arms like tree trunks, a dark bushy beard and dark eyes under closely cropped black hair, every inch the kind of man that spreads the “Smith” last name far and wide.

“Can I help you?” the blacksmith asked, looking up from his work and wiping his bronze-skinned forehead with a hair forearm.

“I’m here for a job,” Miro declared as confidently and aloof as his 4 Charisma points would permit.

The blacksmith looked him up and down, then left to right, a skeptical eye falling on each of Miro’s arms, and then shook his head. “The kind of help you need is not the kind I can give you.”

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“Please, I’m a fire mage.”

“You parents must be very proud.”

That statement hurt more than Miro thought it would, but he pressed on.

“I can tend to your fires,” he said, hoping that this was what the blacksmith was currently doing with the large iron stove in the middle of the workshop. “I don’t need much. Just some straw on the floor to sleep on and something that’s not cooked rat to eat.” He would mention his desire for a pittance he needed as a wage that he would use to pay his way back home at some later time. It was always easier to ask for more when one was already in.

“Is there anything else you can do?” Miro could see the struggle in the man’s eyes, the corners of which crinkled with lines as he thought

“I have 3 Strength points.”

“I don’t know what that means, boy, but I’ve always been a results kind of man.” The blacksmith let that sit for a moment, chewing on his lip. “Alright, let’s see what you can do.” He waved Miro to come inside and gestured towards the stove.

“Uh, there’s no fuel in there yet,” Miro said, finding the stove empty of wood or coal.

“If it had fuel in it already, I wouldn’t need you, would I? Maybe I could even pay you with the money I’ll save.”

Miro nodded to himself – less effort than he thought it would take to earn that pittance. All that stood in his way was doing something that he’d never before tried to do with his powers – set fire to something that would ordinarily not burn. Was that even available to him? The fact that he immediately thought of Hima being able to answer his question annoyed him deeply and he raised his hands toward the open stove. Was it possible to miss something at this range, even with his debuff? Perhaps if he did, Miro would die of embarrassment and save himself any future grief. Breathing deeply, he worked the flames into his hands and then released three fireballs from each one into the mouth of the stove, lighting it into a mad roaring flame. He held his breath, as if facing a fragile candle, hoping that after the initial angry roar it wouldn’t die down. The fire dimmed slightly but seemed to stick and the blacksmith peered closer for an inspection.

“Doesn’t look too bad,” he concluded. “Perhaps I can make some use of you after all, uh …”

“Miro.”

“Miro. I’m Shurik.” Shurik extended a meaty paw and absolutely gobbled up Miro’s hand in his.

With a new sense of personal ownership, Miro looked around the workshop.

“So, what are we building today?” As he was asking the question, Miro realized he wasn’t exactly sure what blacksmiths made other than swords and armour, though figured that a simple village blacksmith wouldn’t usually be in the business of putting together weapons.

“Nails,” Shurik answered.

“Nails. That’s … useful.”

“And five swords.”

“Okay that’s something more exciting.”

Shurik paused, raising a smoldering black eyebrow at Miro and then shaking his head.

“Nothing more exciting than a sturdy nail to keep the roof from falling on you.”

“Of course, what I meant was,” and then, remembering his earlier thought, Miro asked, “Why do we need that many swords?”

“Local militia ordered them. Rumour has it, villages to the northeast are being harassed by a group of soldiers from this new King in the north. Last thing folks need around here is another war, especially with the crops having trouble in the east. Just ignore those bullies and they’ll go away, is what I think. Instead, everyone wants to walk around with their swords and other bits a-swinging.”

Miro thought of Nydra, and her complaint about how the usurper in the north had not made any real attempts to disturb the peace south of his stronghold. He imagined how pleased she would be if Miro had delivered these interesting rumours to her. This was not though a time for contemplating Nydra, but for making nails, and if Miro could help it, these would be the best damn nails in all the Lowlands.