Blacksmith Lore

Chapter 1
Krensh threw another ruined knife blade on the scrap heap and let his hammer and tongs fall to the ground. He hadn’t been sleeping, and his work was suffering. He rubbed his eyes, shook his head, drank some water. He considered melting another ingot and trying again, but decided not to waste his time. A cup of ale or two might steady his nerves. Hell, three or four might help him get some sleep.

Krensh walked down from the hill where his forge and hut stood. He watched the Nyburg trail as he went, just in case Serryl happened to return just then. But the trail was empty, and he arrived shortly at Yoniburg’s lone tavern. Throwing the door open Krensh saw that he was the only customer at this early hour. He pulled out a stool at the bar.

“Morning, Yugh,” Krensh said to the barkeep. “Ale, filled to the brim if you please.”

“Rough morning at the forge?” Yugh asked with raised eyebrow as he filled a cup.

“Haven’t been sleeping,” Krensh said. “You hear any news of Serryl?”

“I’m afraid not my boy.”

Krensh nodded, took the ale and began drinking. The tavern filled up as the day went on. Krensh didn’t count his cups, and was thoroughly drunk by midday. When his cup was empty yet again he slammed it on the bar. “Yugh! More ale!” he hollered.

Yugh came to stand in front of him, took the cup and set it aside. “You’ve had plenty my boy,” the barkeep said. “Time to go home. You’ll sleep easy now.”

Krensh stared off, frowning. “There been any news of Serryl?” he asked.

“Nothing yet,” Yugh said. He reached over the bar and put a hand on Krensh’s shoulder. “She’ll turn up, don’t you worry. She’s tougher than that anvil you make her armor with, and you know it.”

“No, something’s wrong this time. She should have only been a day or two. Something’s wrong. Why aren’t we looking for her?”

“Well, nothing to do about it right now. Go and get some sleep-”

“No!” Krensh brushed Yugh’s hand from his shoulder and shouted as he jumped up from his seat. “Something’s wrong! Why aren’t we looking for Serryl?”

The din of the tavern died as folks turned to listen to the blacksmith’s outburst.

“You’re right, we could have a party put together, set out first thing tomorrow,” Yugh said kindly. “But you’re in no shape for it now. Right now you should get some sleep.”

“I’m not going home,” Krensh said. “I’m taking the Nyburg trail and asking after Serryl. Someone has seen her and they’ll know where she is.”

“Krensh I know you’re concerned. We all are, but there’s no trouble Serryl’s in that you’re going to save her from in your condition. What do you expect to do even if you find her?”

“Doesn’t matter. I have to try.” He turned to the still listening crowd. “Who will help me? I’d be glad for the company.” Krensh looked around the room. Eyes began avoiding his. Heads turned away, and the tavern’s patrons slowly returned to their cups and their conversations.

Krensh gave one last look at Yugh. The barkeep sadly shook his head, then turned his back and filled a cup for another patron.

“Cowards all!” shouted Krensh, but the room didn’t react. After a moment the blacksmith walked out the front door.

Several hours later Krensh had sobered up to find himself far from home along the Nyburg trail. He was hungry, cold and exhausted. In his rashness he hadn’t even stopped at his hut for his sword and helm. All he had carried when he left for the tavern was a table knife and a bag of coins.

Three riders appeared on the trail ahead, leisurely cantering toward him. Krensh stopped and waved as they approached.

“Hail!” called out the lead rider. She came to a stop in front of Krensh as the other two trotted past.

“Hail,” Krensh returned. He leaned forward with hands on knees to rest.

“You look a long way from home. Are you in trouble?”

“No, not in trouble,” Krensh said. “I’m looking for my friend. A warrior. She’s a bit shorter than me, braided brown hair. She wears a breastplate of brushed steel engraved with a moon and star, matching pauldrons and gauntlets, and a bronze and leather spiked cap. She would have come this way some ten days ago.”

“You know her armor well,” the rider commented.

“I ought to,” Krensh said. “I crafted it.”

“Indeed?” said the rider. Krensh noticed only then that she herself was armored, and carried mace and crossbow. “Is your friend beautiful?”

“What?” Krensh blushed. “No. I mean, probably. Well of course.”

The riders laughed, and Krensh realized the other two riders were right behind him. He was surrounded.

“I believe I did meet this warrior of yours,” said the leader. “On this very road, some ten days ago. I’ll tell you all about it. I can even take you to her. But first I’m going to need you to do me a favor.”

Krensh’s shoulders hunched up. “What’s that?”

“I need you to pile your possessions on the road in front of me, let my companions bind your arms and legs, and tell me about any rich relatives you might have.”

The Final Chapter
Krensh woke up cold and embarrassed. The bandits considered him so little of a threat his hands and feet had been left unbound as they confined him to a hide tent, the flap secured with nothing more than a lazy knot. And truly, he felt little will to attempt an escape from their camp.

The watch changed as dawn broke, and the bandits began stirring awake for the day. Eventually the tent flap opened and one of the brigands leaned in with a hunk of hard bread. “Hungry?” he asked.

Krensh took the bread and crunched gratefully on it. With his mouth full he asked “Where is Serryl? Your leader said she would take me to her.”

“You know Serryl?” the bandit asked. “She was on deep patrol last night, but she’ll be back for breakfast. I’ll tell her you were asking about her.”

“Serryl… is coming here?” Krensh stuttered. “She’s part of your band?”

The bandit shrugged. “She is now.” He left the flap, but didn’t tie it behind him.

After finishing the bread, Krensh hesitantly stepped out of the tent, afraid someone would see him and force him back in. But the bandits were bustling around the camp, and paid little attention to the bewildered blacksmith.

Dozens of thick wooden beams were stacked in piles at the edges of the camp, and teams of burly workers were setting them in the ground as a barricade. Recently erected watchtowers were in the corners, each occupied by a vigilant archer.

A scattering of cheers came from one side, and Krensh’s heart leapt as he turned to see Serryl walking in from the forest. She held a brace of rabbits high over her head, a satisfied grin on her face. She handed the brace to one of the bandits who came to greet her, as another amicably clapped her on the shoulder.

The brigand who had given him breakfast said a few words to Serryl and pointed across the camp to where Krensh stood. Serryl looked over and her jaw dropped as she made eye contact with the blacksmith. Krensh gave an awkward wave.

“Krensh, what the hell are you doing here?” Serryl shouted as she came up to meet him.

“I thought you were in trouble,” Krensh said. “I came after you, to see if I could help. I’m feeling terribly foolish at the moment, so would you mind not rubbing it in?”

“Krensh, what kind of trouble might I be in that you were going to save me from?” the warrior asked.

“That would be rubbing it in,” Krensh said. “And that’s exactly what Yugh said when I left.”

“Yugh? So you were drunk.”

Krensh shrugged. “I had to do something. We expected you back a week ago, and no one had heard. And now that I’ve found you, and it’s wonderful to see you by the way, would you mind telling me exactly what you’re doing in a camp crawling with bandits?”

Serryl smiled. “Krensh, you really are a fool.” She drew him into a hug.

A bandit laughed as he passed by with a load of firewood. “Hey Serryl, who’s this? Old boyfriend?”

“Thanks, that’s really funny,” Serryl growled, stepping back from Krensh while the blacksmith blushed. The warrior grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him into the tent where he had spent the night, and they sat on the ground.

“We’re in real trouble, Krensh,” Serryl explained. “Something is happening out there, and it looks like it’s going to get very bad. We’re fighting every day, and trying to establish forts and safe zones.” As she spoke Serryl unslung her bow and unbelted her sword, laying them before her.

Krensh picked up the sword, frowning at a notch in the blade.

“Do you have a whetstone?” he asked. Serryl handed him one from her pack, and smirked as Krensh began working on the edge.

“What’s so funny?” the blacksmith asked.

“You never take care of your steel. That’s why you’re my best customer.”

“Are you even listening? This forest is crawling with monsters. They’re pouring out of the mountains, the forests, climbing up out of the surf. And there’s a cult going around, converting hundreds. They claim that some wizard has become a god, and that the old gods are powerless.”

“Sounds like blasphemy,” said Krensh as he worked the whetstone on the blade in long swooping motions. “Wouldn’t that be a matter for the church wardens?” “Just- would you stop for a second?”

Krensh put the sword down, looking at Serryl.

“Since you’re here I have to ask. We could really use a blacksmith, someone who knows how to repair our weapons and armor, and make more.”

“You want me to live here? With you?” Krensh looked at the low walls of the tent.

“Well, we’d give you a bigger tent. I think they put you in here as a joke.”

“I don’t know if I can do that, I-”

Their conversation was interrupted by the blaring of a horn. Serryl swore, picked up her sword and bow and ran from the tent. Krensh followed. The camp had erupted into activity as the bandits gathered toward one of the watch towers. The blacksmith could hear crashing in the forest, and saw something was shaking the trees on the slope of a nearby hill. And it was getting nearer.

The blacksmith could hear crashing in the forest, and saw something was shaking the trees on the slope of a nearby hill. And it was getting nearer. Serryl nocked an arrow to her bow. Looking back to Krensh, she yelled “Get to the other side of the camp! Be ready to run!”

Instead Krensh took a step toward Serryl. “I think we need to-” he began, but Serryl shoved him backward, pushing him to the ground.

“Krensh, get the hell out of here!” Then the warrior turned as a rotting behemoth broke out of the trees.

The decomposing giant was as tall as the watchtower, and twice as wide. Its stench rolled over the camp as it swayed into the clearing. Rancid flesh swung from its face and limbs, and carrion birds clung to its shoulders. A huge vulture was perched atop its head, its beak full of reeking meat.

The archer in the watchtower shot an arrow point blank, but it glanced off the monster’s brow. A swipe of its great arms knocked the watchtower right over, sending the archer cartwheeling into the trees.

Serryl loosed several arrows, taking the monster in the neck and torso, but it didn’t slow. With three ground shaking steps it was suddenly in the middle of the camp, directly before Serryl and Krensh. Bandits came in from all sides, hacking at the behemoth’s legs with swords and axes. Strips of green flesh were falling from its calves, revealing chipped grey bone beneath.

The dead eyes of the rotting monster were staring right at Serryl, who defiantly drew her sword. With a roar, the beast raised both fists in the air and began to swing downward.

In a flash, Krensh knew what he had to do. Blacksmiths of his talent were at work in every town and village between Parid and Hasta. This camp would soon find another to sharpen blades and hammer out dents in armor. Serryl was irreplaceable.

His feet suddenly beneath him, Krensh dashed forward with all his might. He dipped his shoulder and rammed into Serryl, hitting the side of her steel breastplate and sending her rolling to the side. The beast’s massive fists came down, instantly pulverizing the blacksmith.

Krensh’s last thought was of hope.