by Demetri Grim
“Fine! Uncle you have made your point.” She sighed over dramatically. This time she was not letting him bait her into that conversation again. Last time it ended with a murderous elf walking into the shop and she wasn't about to test the fates. Poking at her food once more she looked up at her uncle and smiled. “I will just do all I can to deliver it to Lavets personally, and avoid that nasty, evil old elf. You can bet on if he wins or not, but leave me out of it!”
“Good!” He clapped his hands together and stood, moving his empty plate to the kitchen. ”Now that's settled, finish yer meal. I'm going to get the fires started. Join me in the forge when yer done and bring a jug of water with ya. Remember girl if ya start to feel faint like I know ya wee little lasses are known to do, take a break and drink, it's going to be hot today.” He winked at her as she scoffed, offended and stuck her tongue out at him.
When Beka finally entered the large forge at the back of the Silverlight Smithy twenty minutes later, her uncle as promised already had the forge roaring. Working the large multi chambered bellows flames were spitting angrly from the front grate of the old rune engraved forge. She flinched away as an intense wave of heat struck her face.
“Hurry up girl! Get the shovel from the coal pit and start feeding it!” He huffed as he worked the thick chain connected to the bellows, arms straining to pull the heavy leather bellows faster than they were built to work.
“Coming right up Uncle!” She rushed out the back of the smithy into the small yard backing the city’s inner wall. It was a bare patch of land clear of fire hazards with only a thick stone smelter, a pit filled with coal, and wheelbarrow near the alley that ran along the side of the smithy. Quickly tying her hair into a loose ponytail with a bit of twine she took the shovel in hand and heaved as large of a scoop of coal as she was able. Leveraging the heavy load under her arm as she filled the wheelbarrow.
“Damn it girl! Put yer back into it!” Her uncle shouted across the yard to her, a thick column of black smoke billowing out of the back door before he moved to kick a jammed flue grate on the back side of the forge’s outer wall. Before ducking back into the billowing smoke.
“Sorry Uncle!” She said, pushing the full wheelbarrow into the room a minute later, the pile of coal they kept near the forge already empty. With a grunt her uncle took the handles from her and upended the wheelbarrow directly into the forge’s open grate, causing a plume of fire and smoke to erupt into the room.
“Three more, just like that girl, go!” He returned to the billows as she darted back out the room with the cart.
Three cart loads of coal later and the heat the forge radiated left her eyes watering, her skin raw, and burning, even from two yards away. The billows bag wheezed like an accordion as dozens of singed holles formed along the billow bag. Looking to her uncle, his face was stony with concentration, sweat pouring from his brow as he thrust a long bar into the flames. Withdrawing the glowing metal he shook his head eyeing how much of the rod glowed with heat. She had never understood how her father and uncle always knew the strength of the forges flames simply by the glow of metal held within, but they were never wrong. If her uncle did not get the fires hot enough the etherium forging would fail, and the spear would be ruined.
“She's not hot enough.” Dropping the rod into a bucket of water with a hiss of steam he turned to her. “Get latched kindling box from that shelf.” He pointed across the forge to a line of shelving covered with long wooden boxes and jars of different oils.
“Damn Uncle that's bloody ironic!” She knew the box he wanted, it was a box of rare wood from the lands of Septa. Wood shavings from a grove of trees that grew only in Arcadia. Known as Arcadian Ironwood, the timber earning its name for the dense branches and thick bark of the tree that was nearly as hard as iron. The wood from that grove burned for days at a very intense heat. Her uncle often used chips of the hard to aquire wood to keep the forge lit for long projects. It was in her opinion, painfully ironic that the very ore from Arcadia required wood from Arcadia to be forged.
“Watch yer mouth girl. No, it's not bloody ironic.” He heaved a heavy breath, pulling on the bellows chain. They wheezed air into the roaring flames, making them crackle angrly. “It's what the smiths of Arcadia use when they work with etherium. We don't have the supply of wood they do on hand.” He wiped sweat from his eyes and looked over to her. “We also don't have the luxury of building the fires heat over several days with ironwood.” He gestured to the coal wagon,” That's why we had to get her as hot as we could first.” Hauling the box off the shelf she grunted and braced it on her hip. Iron wood was incredibly heavy but she managed not to drop it. Swaying awkwardly across the room she offered it to her uncle and turned to grab the key. “No need Girl, we're gonna need all of it.” With a haggard breath he shoved the entire box of wood shaving into the forge. The resulting bust of heat and flame made them both stagger away, the roaring red flames taking on a blue white color as the fires consumed the wooden crate. His eyes glinting in the fire light, a wide and wicked grin slowly spreading across his face. He turned to look at her. “Now, that's Dragonfire.”
Chapter 5: Red Gold
The intense heat of the forge seemed to pull the air from Beka’s lungs, even from halfway across the room. Her uncle stood near his anvil chuckling. She shook her head, feeling a little faint. The temperature of the flame stripping the moisture from the room and making her skin feel blistered and raw. She was sure the heat was getting to him as well as he was now staring right at her, his face red, a wide toothy grin lifting the corners of his singed mustache. The blue white flames licked at the opening to the forge behind him. The metal around the forge grate was turning a dull orange in the heat and she worried the forge itself may melt if this unbelievable flame continued.
“Uncle it's too hot, were going to lose the forge!” she shouted over the roar of the flame.
“Nonsense girl, she can take it! We have a moment before the flames settle, get water and catch yer breath we only have a brief window, but it will do us no good if ya faint on me.” His smile never leaving his face as he moved to the center of the room and the large iron anvil that he did all of the shops hammer work.
“I'm not going to faint Uncle!” she shouted angrily at him, her mock anger a cover to hide her embarrassment. She was indeed feeling light headed, to her irritation and her uncle’s amusement no doubt. She was sure if she had been any closer to the forge when he tossed in that box of ironwood she may very well have fainted.
“I figure we have about three hours before this fire drops in temperature, it's going to take at least half of that to set the etherium.” Kneeling next to the anvil Montgomery lifted a brick from the floor near the corner of the anvil, revealing a solid-looking latch attached to the base of the anvil. Rubbing his hands together to clear them of ash and sweat he twisted the latch. Two clamps released with a loud clang from the bottom of the anvil and the burly smith easily pushed the heavy rolling anvil aside. She watched as her uncle retrieved an elaborate box from within the hidden alcove under the anvil. The top of the box polished to a mirror shine and glowing a faint silver light, the same enchantment as the shop’s armors. The Galten Family crest centered in the lid, depicting a dark iron anvil set atop a silver flame. Within the heart of the anvil shaped crest glowed a tiny silver hammer made out of crystal.
Her uncle slide the anvil along its disguised track and back over the hidden compartment, the locks clamping shut with a solid clunk. Lifting the pitcher she had brought in with her she took a slow drink of water and made a face, scrunching her nose in disgust and sticking out her tongue. “Bleh..” Even from across the room the intense heat of the homemade dragonfire had turned her cool drink into tepid bath water.
“Go fetch the spear girl, it's time to finish this up.” Her uncle said as he laid the faintly glowing silver box atop the anvil withdrawing a key from around his neck, preparing to unlock it. His eyes locked upon the crest of his family. The enchanted box had been made as
a gift from Beka's mother to her father before she was born. That box held the family's secret to enchanting and she took in a breath in anticipation. Her uncle cracked his knuckles and neck preparing himself for the coming task with an iron will. She watched him touch the crest reverently before working to set the key into the lock. His eyes came up to hers and he lifted an eyebrow. “Well go get it.” He snapped at her.
“Right, sorry uncle. It's still on my workbench.” Beka darted from the room, glad to be free of the oppressive heat of the forge even for a moment. She knew her uncle’s tone and the stern expression on his face, he was entirely focused on his task. She wondered if she would ever be so driven to work the forge like that. Master the creation of amazing weapons like her father and uncle. She knew she would have to figure that out some day. The forge would eventually pass on to her, but trying to picture herself working day after day with such intense focus not to mention strength needed to make the weapons and armor made her doubtful. She loved working with her gruff uncle, as his apprentice, a helper, and especially doing filigree. But it was not something she could truly ever see herself doing for the rest of her life.
Grabbing the spear from her work table she hesitated. Hefting the eight foot spear awkwardly in her arms, the thick clay on the blade’s end making it even more heavy and unwieldy. She nearly knocked over an armor stand as she jogged her way back through the store to the forge room. She paused at the entry and lamented having to re-enter the inferno again. Taking one last breath of cooler air she stepped in. Her uncle had moved aside the elaborate lid of the box, revealing a glinting true silver smithing hammer within. Its sides decorated in gold filigree. The same pattern of spirals and knots that she had chosen to put on the spear. She thought it was fitting for a weapon to be given within the family to match the family's most prized and secret possesion.
“I have the spear Uncle, what do you want me to do now?” She asked, stepping up to the anvil.
“Set it over here on the anvil, next to the box. Then go get the long tongs, a few of the cotton towels, and another pitcher of water.” He answered her. She quickly moved to fetch all the items, returning moments later with a few half singed cloths and fresh pitcher of water.
“What's the water for Uncle? Don't we use the oil to quench the blade?” She asked confused, it was foolish to wet the towels, she suspected they would be used to hold the tongs. Getting them wet would just burn their hands.
“I was thirsty” He said, taking a long drag of the cool water and grinning at her with a content sigh once he finished swallowing, pouring the rest over his head. ”I saw you drink that warm spittle earlier and wanted something better.” He winked at her as he emptied the last of the pitcher.
“You’re such an ass Uncle.” She said, glowering at him.
“Watch yer mouth girl or I'll put my boot up yer ass.” He replied giving her a deadpan stare. She just shook her head and rolled her eyes. He was always getting on her about her language, often times doing so in the same way she was being chastised for. It aggravated her to no end and she was certain he did it on purpose.
“Fine.” Beka grumbled too hot to rise to his bait. “What's next?”
“Next is the hard part. We are going to hold the parts of the blade covered in clay within our dragonfire.” He said and nodded towards the inferno of blue white fire melting the insides of the forge.
“Yea I got that part, how is that so hard. Can't we just stick it in and wait for it to do its thing?” She asked not sure if she was missing something.
“I never said we were putting it into the coals, we only want the flame, and we have to hold and rotate it. Like a spit over a camping fire to make sure all sides are touched by the flame.” He picked up the heavy tongs and carefully wrapped a length of the wool around its handle.
“Ok, that's not so bad. We have to do things like that all the time when we're working with gold.” He cut her off with a chuckle and shake of his head.
“We have to do that for up to an hour, non stop, until the clay blackens and crumbles to ash, then and only then will the etherium be merged with the true silver. I don't know about your impressive strength girl. I personally can't hold a spear aloft for that long in this heat, but if you’re able by all means have at it.” He thrust the spear out to her in one hand and she squeaked in protest. Trying not to drop it.
“Omph! Uncle!” Beka protested. “ Do you want me to take,“ —she steadied the spear—“hmph, the first watch?” Finally managing to balance the top-heavy spear with her hip and foot.
“Yes, I doubt yer little chicken wings can hold the spear with the tongs, and the shaft will get very hot after a bit. Once it does hand it off to me and I'll hold it the rest of the time with the tongs,” he said and gestured to the fire.
“All right Uncle,” she answered, and pushed the spear forward. Her face instantly felt the scalding heat of the forge and it made her eyes water painfully. The intense heat evaporated them as quickly as her tears fell. She fought to keep her eyes open so she could watch the clay and turn it evenly but they refused to stay open against the painful heat. “Ahh! Uncle, it's too hot for my eyes, can you get my goggles? They may help.”
“Good idea girl. Just keep turning the spear, I'll be right back.” With that he left the room.
The next half an hour felt like closer to three as she strained against the ever-growing weight of the spear blade, she knew logically it was not getting heavier but her arms and back protested holding the long weapon aloft. She was at least able to keep her eye on the clay and slowly turn it once her uncle had returned with her goggles. She was surprised he didn't actually say anything rude about them, instead he just carefully slid them onto her head and complimented her on her method of slowly turning the spear by hooking the handle under her armpit and using her hands to slowly turn. It wasn't until she felt the slight stinging along her arm and a sharp pain in a very sensitive part of her chest from a hole she had not realised was there that she knew the shaft was reaching the point it was soon to be to hot to hold.
“Uncle, it's starting to really heat up.” She complained and tried to shift the hot metal away from her body. Her hands were protected by the wool cloth she had fetched earlier but as she tried to hold the spear with arm strength alone the tip of the spear began to dip.
“Whoa there girl!” His strong hands wrapped around hers and lifted the tip back up. “That was damn close, I think you have done enough. The clay is already black as night, I don't think it will be much longer before we start to see the change.” He said as he took the spear from her, easily holding it aloft and continuing to turn the blade slowly.
“What change?” She asked. Gladly stepping away from the raging blue white flames.
“Ye'll see.” He winked. “ The last time I worked etherium was from yer mother. She had a pair of heavy earrings made from the stuff, guess she got them from the Magisterium to augment her powers or something. Back before ya were born. When she got pregnant with ya however she said they made her feel uneasy and caused ya to distress, so we melted them down.” He grunted and shifted the spear, the wool in his hands starting to sizzle and blacken from the heat. “Ouch! Damn! Looks like it's time to switch to the tongs” he said.
“So she had it cast into her dagger right?” Beka asked handing him the thick iron tongs. “ I don't recall it being all that special.”
“Naw, the one yer thinking of came later. Now shut yer trap and let me finish.“ He grunted and worked to adjust how he held the spear with the tongs, careful to not let it fall or dip too far. “We only had about two ounces of the stuff, yer father figured out how to use it like we are now. We only had high steel at the time. It was amazing girl! When the etherium bonded to the high steel, it changed the two metals, mixed with the heat of the forge and turned the entire dagger red! I can only imagine what it's going to do to true silver! ” His eyes seemed to glow with anticipation. That or the heat from the forge was making them both hallucinate with heat stroke. She
was not sure which was more likely.
Just as she was about to make a remark about his health she heard a crackle and the flames flickered. A crack forming in the blackened clay of the spear. She worried it had accidently hit the edge of the forge wall at first, but then she saw another crack appear with an audible clicking sound. A sliver of red gold light glinting from within the opening. She stared in fascination as the cracks multiplied each with a flash of red gold light, then it struck her. The cracks in the clay were forming the pattern of her filigree! The clay flaking off to reveal brightly glowing gold metal underneath.
“Here it comes girl! Get the oil bucket! When the last of the clay comes off we have to quench it quickly. The true silver will not take the heat for more than a moment!” he said. His brow was furrowed in concentration and sweat ran down the sides of his face. Not missing a beat, she rolled a tall drum of quenching oil right next to her uncle’s side and backed away. Hoping to observe the tempering from a safer location.
Coming around to the far side of the anvil she watched in fascination as the clay flaked away from the long spear like a serpent shedding its skin. The blade was glowing a white hot color nearly as bright as the flames themselves. Still It took almost another fifteen minutes before the last of the clay cracked and fell away. With a sudden burst of light the last flake crumbled to ash. Montgomery reacted, it was so sudden that it startled her. Jumping away from the forge with a shriek, her fascination replaced by panic as her uncle launched himself backwards, pulling the spear from the forge and thrusting the blade into the quenching oil with practiced ease.
The oil exploded into flames. The fire rushing up the weapons shaft and scorched the ceiling. Montgomery quickly withdrew the violently burning blade before plunging it back into the oil, forming another geyser of flame.
