“Of course, my lord.”
The baron’s aide bowed slightly, indicating the door with his hand. “Shall we?”
“Certainly,” she replied.
Kasper opened the door, and Charlaine followed him out, back into the circular stairwell. Now, going down, she realized the cleverness of the design, for a shield would be easy to deploy when facing a climbing attacker.
They soon reached the bottom and made their way once again through the barracks. The soldiers, still there, having completed their meal, were sitting playing cards and drinking. Charlaine recognized the looks they gave her. She hurried after Kasper Piltz and was relieved when they were finally outside once more.
“Please give your father the baron’s regards,” Kasper said, “and assure him that full payment will be sent on the morrow.”
“Of course…” She hesitated for a moment, unsure of what title to address this man by, then settled on, "Master Piltz."
At the base of the tower, a servant waited, her horse held ready for her departure. She descended to the bottom then took the reins, hauling herself into the saddle. Calabrians, it was said, were exceptional riders, and though she hadn't be born in that distant land, she felt the pride of her people surging through her as she spurred her horse forward, breaking into a gallop, leaving the startled servant far behind.
5
Payment
Summer 1094 SR
* * *
Charlaine struck the iron once more, then dipped it into the trough, listening as it bubbled and hissed. She waited until the noise ceased, then withdrew it, using the tongs to hold it before her eyes, examining the finish. It still needed more work, but her arms were sore, and she desperately wanted something to drink.
Her mother appeared at the workshop's doorway, carrying a tankard and a small wooden platter with some meat and cheese.
“Hungry?” Estelle asked.
“Yes, how did you know?”
“I’m quite familiar with the sounds of smithing,” her mother replied, “and your hammering had slowed. When that happens to your father, it’s because he’s hungry.”
Charlaine pulled off her sheepskin gloves, tossing them on the workbench, along with the half-finished blade. Taking the tray, she set it down and selected a choice piece of meat with her fingers.
“Thank you,” she said.
“How did it go yesterday?”
“Well,” said Charlaine. “Though I must admit the baron was not quite what I expected.”
Her mother laughed. “What were you expecting, an Ogre?”
“To be honest, I wasn’t sure. I know the nobility is powerful, but I somehow expected them to be less… Human?”
“They are people, much like us,” said her mother, “but used to a life of privilege and wealth. Tell me, how did he act around you?”
“He was polite enough,” said Charlaine, “but his son was another matter.”
“You met his son?”
“I did. Apparently, the sword was a gift for him.”
“I take it you mean Ludwig, he’s the eldest. He has another son, you know, though I believe he’s technically a stepson.”
“That’s right,” said Charlaine. “The baron mentioned him in passing.”
“And what was the inside of the keep like?” pressed her mother. “Is it richly decorated and dripping with wealth?”
“Not that I saw. If anything, I would say it’s quite sparsely furnished. It also looks a bit run-down.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m not an expert in such things, but I would say it’s seen better days. I thought all nobles were wealthy?”
“Some more so than others,” said Estelle, “but I hear the king is a distant relative, so at least they have influence.”
“Still, even so, they’re much better off than we are. It must be nice to live a life of leisure in such a place.”
“They have duties and responsibilities, much the same as us."
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
“It’s true,” her mother persisted. “Though, of course, their obligations are much different than our own.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” said Charlaine.
Estelle leaned back against the work table. “As a smith, you have many things you must do, like making sure the forge is hot enough or that your tools are properly maintained, correct?”
“Of course, but I’m a professional.”
“So is the baron, in his own way. Admittedly, he doesn’t do the same kind of work, but he must gather the taxes on behalf of the king, make sure the borders are secured, and train and equip the soldiers that are under his command.”
“A mite easier to do when you’re living in luxury,” said Charlaine. “And much easier when you order others to do it all for you.”
“And yet, it still requires mental energy. There are many professions that rely on the power of the mind rather than that of the body.”
“Like what?”
“Well, mages for one,” offered Estelle.
“Mages? Honestly, Mother. Of all the possible examples you could come up with, you had to go with that?”
“What’s wrong with mages? They’re the perfect example of intellect over brawn.”
“What’s wrong with mages?” repeated Charlaine. “They destroyed Calabria, that’s what’s wrong with them!”
“Don’t be silly, girl, mages didn’t destroy Calabria. Who told you such rubbish?”
“Father, and he would know, he served with the king's army.”
“That was years ago,” Estelle explained, “and mages were only a small part of it. It was the soldiers that did most of the damage.”
“But the mages served the Halvarians, Mother. They’re the ones that brought fear and loathing to our people.”
“Mages fought on both sides, Charlaine. Did your father forget to mention that?”
She stared at her mother, surprise written on her face.
“No,” Estelle said. “I thought not. Your father means well, but he has a somewhat jaundiced view of the world. While it’s true that mages fought for Halvaria, Calabria had its own wielders of magic. Mages are not bad because they wield magic, they are bad because of the choices they make to advance their calling. There are plenty of decent wizards out there in the Continent. Don’t judge them all based on a handful of bad seeds.”
“I had no idea,” admitted Charlaine.
“That’s because you have limited experience with them. Tell me, how many mages do you know or have even heard of?”
“None.”
“Then it's really not fair to judge them, is it?”
“No, I suppose not.”
“And by the same reasoning,” said her mother, “you cannot judge the baron and his family when you’ve met no other nobles.”
“No, I suppose not,” said Charlaine. She stood in silence, picking away at her food.
Estelle moved closer to the forge. “I don’t know how you can stand to be in this heat all day,” she said.
“You get used to it, Mother,” Charlaine explained. “After a while, you don’t even notice it.”
“I would,” declared Estelle. She paused, staring down at the workbench. “What’s this you’re working on?”
“I was experimenting. I thought to make a short sword, but I think, instead, it’ll likely turn out as a long dagger.”
“You think? You mean you didn’t plan it out?”
“No, I was letting the metal talk to me.”
“Wherever did you get such a notion?” asked her mother. “That must be your father’s influence.”
“It is,” Charlaine confessed, “but he’s right, you know. Sometimes the work has a mind of its own.” She downed her tankard, then set the empty vessel on the workbench. “Back to work, I think.”
Estelle pointed at the door. “Looks like you’ve got a customer to see to first.”
Charlaine turned to see someone lurking about the workshop.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
The visitor turned, revealing the countenance of the baron’s son, Ludwig. He grinned, showing perfect white teeth and a smile that could charm even the most steadfast of women. Charlaine was having none of it.
“My lord,” she said. “I gather you’ve come to pay for the sword?”
“I have, though I would have thought a greeting of some type was warranted. Did you not learn manners when you were young?”
“I was never young,” she replied. She turned slightly, indicating her mother. “This is my mother, Estelle deShandria.”
Her mother bowed. “Pleased to meet you, my lord. Now, if you will excuse me, I have other things to attend to. I’ll leave you two to your business.”
Charlaine watched her mother disappear into the house, then turned her attention back to her visitor. She wanted to lash out and wipe the smug look from his face, but practicality took hold. After all, he hadn’t yet paid her for the sword. Instead, she managed half a smile. “Greetings, my lord.”
“There,” said Ludwig, “that didn’t hurt, now, did it?”
“How was your journey?” Charlaine asked, trying to avoid the topic.
“From the keep? Satisfactory, though I must admit the scenery is not as enjoyable in the countryside.”
She chose to be offended. “I beg your pardon?”
“I find the city much more enticing,” explained Ludwig. “All these people living their lives in such close proximity. It’s marvellous, isn’t it?”
“If you say so. All I see when I look around the city is crowded streets and endless activity.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” he said.
She pointed to her left. “Over there,” she began, “lives a carpenter. His dog wakes us up at the crack of dawn every day with his constant barking. And over there”—she nodded across the street—“lives a farrier that staggers in late every night, three sheets to the wind, bellowing for a lost love.”
Ludwig chuckled.
“You find that funny?”
“I find it amusing, though I do sympathize with your plight.”
“You might think differently if it were your home,” she chastised.
“No doubt I would, but I fear I’ve gotten on your bad side. Can we begin again?”
“Begin again?” Charlaine asked.
“Yes, I’d be interested to know how you work?”
“Because I’m a woman doing a man’s job?”
“No, because I find the very concept of sword making to be fascinating.”
“You know,” she continued, “we do more than make swords.”
“You do?”
“Yes, my father and I can also craft other weapons, in addition to making armour, of course.”
“You can make armour?”
“Didn’t I just say that?”
“But I don’t see any here?” Ludwig said as he looked around the smithy.
“We have none currently on order. You can’t simply walk into a smith's workshop and buy armour like a loaf of bread.”
“Why not?”
Charlaine looked at him in surprise. “Do you not know anything of armour?” she asked. “It must be fitted to the individual.”
“But anyone can wear a chainmail vest. Our soldiers do it all the time.”
“I’m talking about plate armour,” she said, “not chainmail, but it, too, should be custom fit.”
“You’re not suggesting you can make knightly armour?”
“You find that hard to believe?”
“No, I suppose not,” Ludwig confessed. “Though I’m hard-pressed to think of anyone in these parts who could afford such protection.”
“Just because there’s no business, doesn’t mean we can’t do it."
“You have me intrigued. Tell me, do you make shields as well?”
“Metal ones, yes,” she said. “You’d have to find a carpenter to make a wooden one.”
“Why would I want a wooden shield?”
“I don’t know, perhaps to equip your soldiers?”
“I suppose that makes sense.” Ludwig wandered through the workshop as if he owned the place, examining every tool as he went. Charlaine felt like her privacy was being invaded but held her tongue. It would do no good to provoke this noble's son.
“What’s this?” he asked, staring down at the newly forged blade.
“It’s a dagger I’m working on. Well, more of a long knife, actually.”
“May I?”
She nodded, and he picked it up.
“The blade is impressive,” he stated, “but the handle needs some work.”
“There IS no handle yet. That’s called the tang. The handle will fit over it and then be balanced by the pommel.”
“You know your fighting terms."
“I should hope so. I’d be a poor swordsmith if I didn’t.”
“You have a valid point there,” Ludwig admitted. “Is this for a customer?”
“No, I was using it to hone my skills.”
“How long will it take you to finish it? I’m curious to see the final product.”
“A week,” Charlaine replied, “maybe less, but then again commissioned sales take priority. If I get busy, I might not get back to it for months.”
“That would be a shame. Say, what if I were to purchase it?”
“My knife? Why in the Saint's name would you want that?”
“I don’t know, I suppose because now I’ve seen it in its early stages. How much do you want for it?”
“Make me an offer,” Charlaine suggested.
He placed the half-finished blade down, then crossed his arms and knitted his brow while he thought about it. “I’ll give you ten crowns for it.”
“Ten crowns!”
“Yes, why? Is that not enough?”
She wanted to scream at him that it was too much, but part of her wanted to separate this young lord from his coins. Her mind struggled with the decision, but then her sense of fairness won out. “Five would be more appropriate.”
“Sold,” he declared. “When can I take delivery?”
“Three more days, but you still haven’t paid me for the sword.”
Ludwig patted his tunic, then withdrew a pouch from his belt. “Your pardon, where are my manners? Here it is, the agreed-upon amount. You can count it if you wish,” he said as he placed it on the workbench.
Grasping the purse and untying, she spilled the coins out onto the table and began counting them.
“Most people would have taken my word,” Ludwig admonished.
“You said I could count it.”
“I was merely being polite.”
“Well, I’m being practical."
“Fair enough,” he said, waiting as she placed the coins back in the purse. “Satisfied?”
“This pays for the sword, but now you owe me for the dagger.”
“The dagger is not yet completed,” he countered.
“True, but half is usually paid upfront.”
“Is it now? Very well, let me get you some coins.” He felt around his tunic once more. “Sorry, it seems I have left myself short of funds, something I do with some regularity. Can I bring it to you later today? I give you my word I shall return.”
“Very well,” she said. “But until your return, I shall do no work on the dagger.”
“Long knife,” he corrected.
Charlaine couldn’t help but smile. “Very well, I shall see you later today, Lord Ludwig.”
“I am not actually THE lord,” he admitted.
“I beg your pardon?”
“My father is the lord. I won’t be the Baron of Verfeld until his death.”
“Then what should I call you?" she asked.
“I am usually known as Master Altenburg or even Master Ludwig.”
“I call no man master,” she declared.
“Then Ludwig will do,” he said with a smile, an action she found annoying.
“What are you g
rinning at?”
“It seems you can be civil after all. Now, tell me, have I offended you?”
“Yes, you have."
“Have I? I certainly didn’t mean to. May I ask what form this insult took?”
“If you must,” she said. “Back at the keep, you took me for a gift.”
“That was certainly not intentional,” he said. “Though you must admit that my father was not precise when he told me he had procured a present for me.”
“And does that make it right?”
“No, I suppose not,” Ludwig said, a flush coming to his cheeks. “I shall endeavour to take greater care with my words in future, I promise.”
“Very well, I accept your apology. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. Someone wants this nasty piece of iron worked into a dagger.”
“May I watch?”
“Suit yourself,” said Charlaine, “but don’t keep interrupting me to ask questions.” She picked up her gloves, pulled them on and then selected a pair of tongs from her workbench.
“I thought you weren’t going to work on the dagger until I came back with payment?” he said.
“I did say that, didn’t I? I suppose I decided to make an exception, just this once.”
He grinned again. “So I’ve won you over, then?” he asked.
“Hardly, but at least you’re not as annoying as when I first met you.”
* * *
Charlaine worked at the forge for the better part of the afternoon. Ludwig stayed for quite some time, enthralled by the work. True to his word, he remained silent, at least for most of the time, but whenever she took a much-needed break, he would pepper her with questions. It was late afternoon by the time he left with a promise to return with payment. At first, she was glad to see him gone from her shop but somehow missed his companionship when she eventually took a short respite. How had she grown accustomed to his questions so quickly?
The sun was making its way towards the horizon when she finally put down her work. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she removed her gloves, then began peeling the leather apron from her body. It had been hot work, but she was happy with her progress.
As she put away her tools, she smiled. Her father had always insisted on cleaning up the workspace each day, and she had taken the lesson to heart. Now, all her tongs, chisels, and forms sat in their appointed places, ready to be used anew as the sun rose.
Tempered Steel Page 4
