Until moments later in bed, when he proved there was more than the sound of his voice that could bring her so much pleasure.
21
Before the glow of the forge, the two of them stood, staring at an iron bloom. Morgen was fascinated with the process. Throughout her life she’d watched smiths forging tools, weapons and everything in between, but she had never witnessed the smelting process.
Emich turned the mass of iron with his tongs and muttered, “It is ready.”
He pulled it from the burning charcoal and set the lumpy orange bloom on the anvil. With the help of his tongs, he held it in place and gave her a nod.
Morgen moved to the opposite side of the anvil and raised her hammer over her head. The muscles in her arms were sore from the rock crushing the day before, but over the last many weeks she’d grown stronger. When the tool connected with the unworked iron, it didn’t clang the way it would on forged steel, but made a dampened sound. She gripped the handle tight and struck it again. Slag flaked away like blackened scales from a charred pinecone.
She continued to hammer, freeing pieces from the bloom. It began to take a more solid, smoothed shape, but not without much effort. Her face and neck were bathed with sweat, and she couldn’t feel her arms ache any longer.
“Very good,” Emich said, indicating she should stop.
She stepped back, panting. He returned the iron to the forge to reheat it to a high temperature and held his hand out to take her hammer. She was happy to have a break, though her fingers seemed to be fused to the handle.
Emich moved with skill and strength, tirelessly hammering the metal into a rectangular billet. He stopped when it lost its color and returned to its pasty gray hue.
She frowned at it and asked, “What quality of iron is it?”
Although she was sure the metal was still hot to the touch, he picked it up, carried it to the grinder and sat down. His feet braced against the footholds as he pedaled, spinning the circular stone faster and faster. He touched the iron to the grinder. Sparks sprayed out in a fan. Emich pulled it away and glanced over his shoulder at her.
A slow grin spread across his face. “It is steel. The sort that has no equal.”
“How do you know?” She blinked back at him.
Emich touched it to the grinder again, sending out a long spray of sparks. Then he lifted it off so she could hear him speak. “Do you see the long lines of light? And the bursts at their ends? Wrought iron does not have the those large sparks at the ends—not like this.”
“That is good news,” she breathed out. “Did we smelt enough for the armor plates?”
He nodded. “We should have enough, but we will have to work long and hard forging all of the remaining blooms. They will need to be folded for strength and hammered thin.”
“Then we must get to work.” She walked off to collect another bloom from the floor to put in the forge.
“You should take a break. You look tired.”
She bristled. Morgen nestled the iron bloom into the hot charcoal with the tongs and answered without turning around. “That I may be, but I will not rest until the day is done. Just like you.”
Her braid was lifted over her shoulder, and warm breath touched her neck. Emich’s hand wrapped around her waist as he kissed her ear. “You are a stubborn woman.”
“If not for my stubbornness, you would never complete the armor in time,” she answered with a slow grin.
“If not for your stubbornness,” he answered, pulling her into a tight embrace, “I would not know the contours of your body.”
Morgen closed her eyes, enjoying the moment of closeness with him, but her peace dissolved as nagging concerns crept into her thoughts. She knew, without his saying anything, that he’d been worrying about the armor’s design. Her dreams of learning how to smith hadn’t included armoring dangerous dragons.
“Would it be such a bad thing to weaken the armor in some way?” she muttered and stared at the glowing forge. “I keep thinking about the people he will hurt.”
Emich tensed before letting go of her. “It is not my job to keep them safe from Rubrecht, only to keep you safe. The only way I can protect us is if I deliver flawless armor. I wish you would stop bringing this up—I have bigger concerns, like how to design the armor to begin with.”
He pulled the iron bloom out of the furnace and began pounding at it with his hammer. She chanced a look at him and clenched her jaw. He clearly wasn’t ready to discuss it, no matter how strongly she felt about it. She would have to try again another time if she could get him in a better mood.
Throughout the day, they continued to forge the remaining steel blooms into billets, preparing them to be used for the armor. Emich was quiet as they worked. A permanent frown perched upon his face, one that deepened once their stack of steel ingots grew and the pile of unworked steel vanished.
He spread out the charcoal embers to cool, and they returned to the house as the sun disappeared behind the protective barrier of the mountainside. Emich lit the hearth fire, and Morgen cut off two sausages from the links hanging from the rack above the grate. She placed them in the pan sitting beside the flames.
“Where is the leather you brought back from the village?” she asked, wiping off her hands on a rag.
He gestured toward the byre. “On the workbench.”
“Did I see the thirteen-knot rope in the workshop?”
He nodded.
“Go fetch it for me,” she ordered him before lighting a candle and walking into the darkened byre.
The candlelight’s halo illuminated the hay-strewn floor, the milling horses and the wooden walls. To her left a workbench covered with tools and supplies held a stiff roll of leather. Morgen was lifting it from the surface when her eyes combed past the horses’ bridles hanging from a peg, and an idea formed.
She hurried back into the hall of the home with the leather clutched to her breast. She first set the candleholder on the dining table before leaning the leather against the bench. A few moments later, Emich emerged through the kitchen door with the measuring rope in his hand.
She rested her hands on her hips. “First we will eat, then you will become my model.”
He raised an eyebrow in question.
“I might have an idea that would allow Rubrecht to put on his armor without trouble, but I must see you as a dragon first to decide if it will work.”
Emich walked up to her, wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her until her face hovered close to his. “I am beginning to see more benefits to your stubbornness.”
She corrected him. “You mean my determination?”
“Ja.” He kissed her on the lips. “Your determination.”
Dinner finished cooking, and it was wolfed down quickly before Emich was eyeing the door. “Ready?”
“Bring the rope, and I will meet you outside,” she answered.
Emich sauntered to the kitchen doorway while Morgen went back into the byre for one of the horse’s bridles. When she walked out into the dimly lit meadow, the sky was a cerulean blue, and bright points of light were beginning to appear above them.
Emich’s brows furrowed at the sight of the reins hanging from her hand, but she ignored it. “It is time.”
He took a deep breath, then tossed the thirteen-knot rope at her feet. Emich removed all of his clothing, and Morgen couldn’t help but smile as he stood naked before her.
He cocked his eyebrow and said, “If you wanted me naked, all you had to do is ask.”
Morgen laughed and shook her head. Then she walked over to him and looped the wide opening of the reins over his head. The bridle hung down, resting against his knees. She patted his shoulder. “There. Time to take your dragon shape.”
“Step back,” he answered, shaking his head.
She was quick to do so. It was the second time he’d changed before her, but it was no less exciting. There was just enough light to see the planes of his body. Emich closed his eyes, and moments later dark scale
s erupted over his pink flesh. His frame grew, and he hunched onto all fours. Large leathery wings sprouted from his back.
When the transformation was complete, a dragon larger than any horse was staring back at her. Around its neck hung the leather reins.
Morgen stepped closer to him, laid her hand on his scaly shoulder and whispered, “Stand still.”
The bridle adorned his muscular chest. She lifted the back of the reins so it clung more tightly to him, imagining a series of adjustable straps that could wrap around his front legs to secure multiple breast panels of armor. If it were tightened to the dragon’s body once, then Rubrecht could place his neck and arms through the right openings before changing into the form of a dragon. She could picture it perfectly.
Morgen didn’t waste any time taking Emich’s measurements. When she got what she needed, she announced she was done.
Within moments, Emich was standing before her naked once again. He lifted the reins from his neck and held them up. “Tell me. How does the horse tack help us?”
She smiled and began to describe the series of leather panels clad in lamellar steel plates that would protect the neck, chest and upper abdomen—all rigged together by a series of straps and rings designed to be cinched around the dragon’s neck, front legs and back. Morgen knew she was talking quickly and hoped he was following what she said. He said nothing as she rambled on and on about how it could be slipped on before changing into the form of the dragon and how it would fit Rubrecht perfectly, all without anyone else’s help.
She finally quieted, waiting for his reply. Instead of saying anything, he stepped closer to her, placed his hand at the low of her back and brushed his lips against hers.
With his every touch her heart skipped a beat and her flesh burned. She nearly forgot what had been so important a moment ago.
Emich whispered against her cheek, “I love you.”
Morgen closed her eyes to hold onto the moment. Never had she imagined herself caring so deeply for another human being. Never had she thought she could find a man who would feel the same for her—a headstrong woman with dreams of smithing. She was so surprised by her emotion, she got choked up and had to breathe slowly until the lump in her throat dissolved away.
She led him back into the house and into his unlit sleeping quarters. They didn’t make it to the bed before Emich lowered her to the floor, kissing her neck. The soft fur rug protected her skin from the chilly stones as he pressed against her.
When they were through and he held her in his arms, she felt the rough grain of wood under her shoulder.
“What is this?” she asked, lifting onto her elbow. The rug had been brushed aside and revealed wooden boards flush with the surface of the floor.
“Oh, that?” he mumbled. “That is to the tunnel leading into the forest.”
“Why would you need such a thing?”
He shrugged. “Dragons burrow underground. It is natural for us to tunnel beneath our homes and to create secret passages out.”
“What else do I not know about your kind?” she asked, growing more curious.
“We can breathe fire, though it takes much of our energy to do so.”
Light from the dying fire in the kitchen hearth filtered in through the doorway. She looked up at him. “I remember from the mine.”
“Do you?” He smiled at her and traced his fingers along her cheek.
“What else?” She felt like a child asking for a bedtime story while she snuggled against him.
He answered very seriously, “We can control the sun and moon.”
“Truly?”
Emich chuckled. “Nein, we are not that powerful, love.”
Morgen swatted his shoulder. He snarled and attacked her with a shower of kisses. She yelped and was consumed with breathless laughter.
They got little rest over the following weeks as they forged countless rectangular plates for the lamellar. She tried on multiple occasions to bring up the subject of armoring such a volatile man, but every time Emich dismissed the conversation. She had lost count of the days they’d spent in the workshop. It was clear summer was nearing its end, for darkness crept over the mountains earlier in the evening than it had when she and Tybalt had first arrived.
She worried about her father’s return. If he had gotten lost, grown ill or been attacked again upon the trails, she might never see his pleasant smile again. This idea soured her stomach so much she tried to avoid such negative thoughts. But she did not want to consider the danger to her father if Rubrecht arrived at the same time.
As much as her fears threatened to take over her thoughts, there was too much to do to allow herself to dwell on them. So while Emich created a number of polished rings to connect the straps and armor panels together, Morgen began to cut the lengths of leather that were needed. In Emich’s workshop she found the tools needed to stitch and prepare it.
She created leather panels which they would later stitch to the steel plates. She dunked them in boiling water with tongs, then molded them to fit a dragon’s body. Last, she dried and heated them beside the forge in the workshop to harden. Morgen’s hands were pink and tender to the touch by nightfall, but she’d finally prepared the hardened leather panels.
There were three in all: one to cover the base of the neck, one to protect the breast and one that would hang lower, covering the sloping abdomen. They were linked by the rings Emich had forged so they could flex with movement, yet keep the torso guarded.
Emich and Morgen arranged the plating on each section, taking care to affix them firmly. The last step was attaching the leather straps to the rings and armor so it would hang—or better yet, hold securely—around the neck and front legs.
At the end of the fourth week, the armor was ready to be assembled and lay in pieces throughout the hall. Morgen stood beside the dining table with a strap and buckle in her hands. The sun had gone down behind the mountains, and the hearth fire provided the only light to see by. It crackled and snapped and continued to fill the room with a thin veil of smoke.
Emich was busy securing two of the armor panels together. His face was drawn in focus as he grit his teeth together. She glanced at him working, knowing there was little time left before their dreaded guest’s arrival.
He noticed her looking at him and muttered, “We need to put it together before he arrives so I can test it.”
She had watched other smiths test their wares for customers, proving their products were up to expectations. Emich’s brow was furrowed and the dark circles under his eyes revealed just how consumed he was with anxiety. They presumed the steel was hard enough to deflect any blows, but what if the armor was too heavy, keeping Rubrecht grounded? And what if it didn’t fit him right?
Morgen began to think about the man who’d commissioned the armor and whom it would be used against. Innocent people.
She’d tried many times to discuss her feelings on the subject, but Emich wouldn’t listen. It wasn’t too late to put design flaws into the armor while they assembled it. Rubrecht wouldn’t be the wiser.
This was her last chance to make a difference. She swallowed and said softly, “We made him unstoppable.”
Emich glanced over his shoulder at her. “It is possible. So long as he leaves us alone and returns to his lands, I will not be forced to think of him and his devilry.”
“It would not be hard to fasten a strap poorly, so it would not take much to undo it.” She held up the piece of leather in her hands.
“And who would he come to char in their sleep if that happened?” His voice rose in anger.
Her stomach twisted into knots, and she tried breathing through her disgust. “He bragged of his tyranny. Yet you do not care what he does to the innocent so long as he leaves you alone?”
Her interest in decorative iron had never led her to think on the responsibility of the armorer or swordsmith. Not until recently, that is.
Emich straightened up and turned around. His frown etched deeply into his forehead befor
e he said anything more. “My only concern is keeping us both safe. It is the job of a priest to guide those with moral choices, not a smith. It is our job to forge metal to make tools and weapons. If I worried about who wielded every blade I sharpened, I would never sell a one.”
Morgen was angry now. Angry to think she would fall in love with a man who didn’t share in her perspective. This was why she should have remained with her father. Tybalt might have been overwhelmingly optimistic at times, but he was kindhearted and honorable. She couldn’t imagine hearing such things coming from his mouth.
Emich may have been a dragon man, but she was unafraid of him. She walked up to him and pressed her pointer finger into his chest. “You have been hidden on your mountain too long if you are deluded enough to think you are not part of the world around you. If everyone only worried about themselves it would be a frightful place.”
“That is how you survive,” he growled back at her.
Was this what a broken heart felt like? Her chest burned and so did her eyes. She wiped her tears away and choked out, “I just wish I had discovered how weak you were before I shared your bed. I kept telling myself you would change and see reason. So long as you will not, I cannot remain here and take part in this!”
She stepped away from him. Before she could go any farther, he stopped her.
“What about you?” His eyes flared and his jaw tightened. “You are so used to traveling from place to place—you claim you want to settle in a proper home, but when you cannot change my mind with your nagging, you run away. Who is the weak one, really?”
Her teeth grit together so tightly her jaw ached. “I will leave in the morning and find a place in the village until my father returns for me.”
Without a second glance, she walked past him into the spare room. She gathered her few things and packed them into the leather sack that held the door knocker her father had left for her.
Morgen sat on the trunk before the contained two-level bed with the heavy piece of metal clutched in her hands. She stared at it and cried. Too many emotions erupted in her heart for her to think clearly. With the door knocker pressed to her breast, she crawled into the lower bedchamber and wept herself to sleep.
Sirens and Scales Page 156
