“Leave?” asked Ballorn with surprise.
“Don’t worry,” laughed Senn, slapping Ballorn’s thigh. “I’m not going anywhere yet. I’m intrigued by how my silver will look when it’s forged into armour and, to be honest, I had to agree to the villagers demands that I witness it.”
“They don’t trust us then?” grunted Ballorn.
Senn sat back and folded his arms over his potbelly, “Would you?” he grinned.
Ballorn screwed up one eye and rocked his head from side to side, contemplating the question, “Not really,” he replied. “No, I wouldn’t.”
“Then of course, there’s the other thing,” whispered Senn.
Hunter frowned, “Other thing?” he asked, sounding surprised. “What other thing?”
Senn’s face lit up, “I get to see a dragon.”
Ballorn and Hunter glanced nervously at one another. Whilst barely moving, Ballorn could see that Hunter was trying desperately to shake his head. Ballorn held up his hand behind his leg to allay his concerns. “Senn, you do realise how arduous the search for the crystal…”
“Oh don’t be so stupid!” laughed Senn, “I’m too old and fat to join you on your quest! I never meant that dragon… I meant the other one. The one that’s been helping you, the one that told you to make the silver armour!”
“What makes you think we’ll be seeing the dragon again before we set off?” asked Ballorn.
“Because he told you to take the armour to him once it was forged.” Senn smiled at him. “Don’t worry, Ballorn, I got that little nugget of information from your chatty little friend. He never stops talking, blurts everything out as he chunters to himself. I swear he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.” He leaned forward, “Are you sure it’s safe to have him tagging along? If he lets slip what you’re up to in front of the wrong people, he could cause you a lot of problems.”
Hunter sighed, “We have no choice,” he admitted. “We can’t leave him to fend for himself, he wouldn’t last five minutes.”
“I could take him back to Cheadleford with me,” suggested Senn.
Ballorn laughed, “If you took him back there with you, he wouldn’t last three minutes! You’ve seen how annoying he can be, those miners would probably drag him down a shaft and he’d never be seen again!” He mused over his own statement. “Perhaps that might not be so bad after all,” he joked. “No, he’s far safer with us, at least we can keep an eye on him.”
“Well, if you change your mind, let me know. In the meantime, I’m shattered. I’m going to get some sleep and I suggest you do the same.”
“Just one thing,” Ballorn said as Senn walked away, “Keep the secret about the dragon to yourself, will you? We don’t want to spook your guards.”
“Oh them!” shrugged Senn, “Don’t worry about them, they already know. As I said, your friend’s a blabbermouth!”
***
The sweat ran into Ballorn’s eye, stinging him like an angry wasp. He balled up his fist and screwed it into the socket, trying his best to contain the rage that was building within him. The breastplate on his bench was beginning to take shape. He tapped as gingerly as he could for fear of repeating his mistake, a mistake he had already made twice. His reticence was clear to see as he faced his third attempted creation of the silver armour. Holding his breath, he brought his hammer down. There was a faint clink. Ballorn roared as he hurled the breastplate, sending it over the counter and out into the street. “STUPID BLOODY IDEA!” he screamed. “HOW IS THIS GOING TO PROTECT ME AGAINST A DRAGON WHEN IT WON’T EVEN WITHSTAND A TAP FROM A HAMMER?”
Stitch watched him with interest. Sitting on the counter, his feet crossed as they dangled, he tentatively spoke to the blacksmith, “Perhaps it needs a lighter touch,” he suggested.
“A LIGHTER TOUCH?” shouted Ballorn. “Any lighter and I may as well stroke it with a feather!”
Stitch spoke even quieter than before, “That’s the thing, Ballorn, your lightest touch, compared to anyone else’s is a bit like… ooh, I don’t know how to put this. It’s the sort of force a normal nemilar would use to knock in a fence post… or a glamoch would use when stamping on your face, or a tree would have when falling on your head.”
Ballorn glowered at him, “A normal nemilar?”
Stitch was beginning to look nervous, “I don’t mean it as an insult,” he said hurriedly, “but perhaps someone with a more delicate touch would have more success in shaping the armour.”
Ballorn placed his elbows on the counter and leaned closer to Stitch, “So, what you’re saying is that we need a puny blacksmith to make this armour?”
Stitch shuffled slowly along the counter away from Ballorn, “Not exactly,” he replied, grinning, “We couldn’t find a better blacksmith than you, Ballorn. If there are any other blacksmiths still alive around here, that is. No, what I’m suggesting is that you tell someone else what needs to be done and let them do the hammering.”
“You think it’s that easy, do you?” Ballorn asked with a grunt. “Do you know how long it takes to learn exactly how to beat metal into shape without destroying it? Well I’ll tell you, shall I? HALF YOUR LIFE! And even that’s not long enough, because all of a sudden some nosey git suggests you’d be better off clad in a silver suit of armour to protect yourself against a blasted dragon!”
Stitch held up his hands in an attempt to calm Ballorn, “Let’s face facts, Ballorn,” he said, lowering his voice. “What harm would it do to try? Three times you’ve shaped that breastplate, and three times you’ve managed to split the silver.”
Ballorn stared at him thoughtfully, “You’re not suggesting that the person who might be able to help is you, are you?”
Stitch suddenly became very enthusiastic, “I’ve worked with every kind of leather and hide you could care to mention,” he said reassuringly. “I doubt that working with as soft a metal as silver would offer any difficulties.” He smiled, “With the right teacher by my side of course,” he added.
Ballorn grabbed Stitch’s wrists and turned his hands palm up. The skin on the tips of his fingers was as thick as the leather he had mentioned previously. Although not as strong as the hands of the blacksmith, it was obvious that the tailor was no stranger to hard or difficult work. “You’re going to need some gloves,” Ballorn muttered, “I’ve seen babies with tougher skin than yours.”
Stitch could not hide the smile on his face, “Where do we start?” he asked.
Ballorn glanced around him, “Well, if you’re going to be my apprentice, you get all the crap jobs as well as trying to be the hero by shaping the armour. So there’s your first task, go and fetch that breastplate. It landed over there somewhere, I think.”
Stitch scurried away.
Many hours later, as night fell, the pair were still hard at work. Hunter passed them a few times during the afternoon, and each time would catch snippets of their conversation before smiling and going on his way. He expected Ballorn to be bawling and shouting at Stitch, but it seemed the blacksmith was as keen to teach the tailor his craft as the tailor was to learn it. But it would be at least a few days before they would complete their task. Hunter would provide their meals, resisting Senn’s protestations and reminding him that he was a guest in the village. The truth that his meals tasted dreadful was never mentioned by Hunter or the others, although the relief could be seen on the faces of the guards.
On the second evening after arriving in Krevick, they all sat enjoying a much-needed meal. Dannard stood immediately after finishing and headed toward the woods.
“Where are you going now?” exclaimed Stitch, “I’m starting to think we’ve upset you! Or do you just not like us?” he laughed.
Dannard turned and sniffed, wrinkling his nose as he looked at them in turn. “What is you… my gaoler?” he asked. “Has I done something wrong that I does not know about and been made a prisoner by you lot?”
“Of course not,” replied Stitch. “But it’s dark and you’re headed off into the woods a
gain. It’s not safe in there during the day, but it’s ten times worse at night!”
“I doesn’t need anyone holding my hand, thank you,” Dannard said slowly. “I can look after myself! I doesn’t need someone with a bow like his,” he added, pointing at Hunter, “nor a big bag o’ muscles with no brain like him,” he continued, looking straight at Ballorn.
“Well off you go then,” sighed Hunter. “If you get attacked by animals that want you for dinner, give us a shout, will you?” A huge smile appeared on his face, “We’ll come and watch.”
Dannard snorted and walked away.
Senn shook his head, “He can be a most disagreeable fellow at times, can’t he,” he sighed.
Ballorn glanced at Hunter before replying, “Oh, you’re right there, Senn,” he said. “But only on the good days. Most of the time he’s an absolute git!”
“Oh, come on!” protested Stitch. “He’s not that bad, he just gets a little cranky at times. We all have our good side and bad side.”
“Perhaps,” said Hunter. “It’s just a shame that Dannard only has a backside, and his own head is shoved firmly up it!”
“Where do you think he’s going?” asked Ballorn.
“Don’t really care,” replied Hunter. “But if it means we don’t have to listen to his whinging and moaning for a while, he can stay there as long as he likes.”
“He just likes his privacy, that’s all,” mumbled Stitch. “He’s always been the same, as long as I’ve known him anyway.”
Ballorn winked at Hunter, “How long have you known him, Stitch?”
“Same as you, I suppose. About five years. Since he moved to the village and set up shop.”
“Where’s he from, has he ever told you?” asked Hunter.
“No idea,” replied Stitch. He glanced up, realising where the conversation was headed, “And no, I haven’t asked him, it’s none of my business. Prying into someone’s private affairs would be downright rude!”
Ballorn shrugged his shoulders, “No need to get on your high horse. I just thought that, as you two are so close, you might be able to tell us a bit more about him. You know, things that would help us understand him so that we could make him feel more comfortable and welcome amongst us.”
Hunter hid his smirk behind his hand.
“Are you having us on!” exclaimed Senn. “I gave you a load of silver and what did Dannard do? He complained that it was too heavy! That’s the sort of person he is!” he laughed.
Stitch was cross with them all, “Just leave him alone!” he exclaimed. “He’s done nothing wrong to any of you! Stop picking on him!” He shuffled down and closed his eyes.
CHAPTER 10
Watching the faint orange glow from the cave high above, the cloaked figure drew the hood tightly around his face. The nights here were cold and silent, for the wind, combined with the sub-zero temperatures had rendered the area lifeless. No race nor beast had ever managed to survive the harshness of the terrain.
The stranger continued to study the mouth of the cave. With the slightest twitch of a finger, he disappeared. A split second later he stood watching the occupants of the cave as they slumbered in the relative safety the rock provided. To most they would appear as a most insignificant race, but not to him. When standing they were no more than two feet tall, had spiky hair of various colours with tiny horns poking out of it and cute little tufty beards. Well, the males did. Walking silently, he lowered himself and sat close to the welcoming flames. He meant no harm to anyone within and waited patiently. Whether it would be minutes or hours before any knew of his presence was, to a degree, of no concern. However long it took, it would be worth it. One way or another he would have to be patient if he were to inevitably achieve his goal. He must present his gift, a gift that would ensure the survival of an entire race! Gently rubbing his hands together, he glanced at his surroundings. How desperate could anyone be for them to seek shelter in such a place? he wondered.
Looking back at the fire, a glint of light caught his eye. It was the reflection of the flame in the eyes of one the people before him, eyes that were now fixed on him. He smiled as he spoke gently, “Do not be alarmed, my friend. I mean you no harm. The night is bitter, and I hoped that you would not mind me warming myself by your fire.”
“We’re doing no harm, and have nothing worth stealing,” replied the resident, cautiously. “I’m just trying to keep my family safe, that’s all. Leave us in peace, we’re no threat to you nor anyone else. We’ll be gone in the morning, I promise. If we’re trespassing, I’ll rouse my family now and we’ll leave straight away. If you’re looking to hurt someone, choose me. Just let them go.”
The stranger smiled again, “As I have already said, friend, I have no intention of hurting anyone. As for what I wanted from you, well, that you would be willing to allow me a brief respite from the elements.” He shuffled slightly closer to the fire, “Although I must say that I am surprised to find anyone here. Why would you choose to be in such a place?”
“Survival,” replied the resident.
“Out here in this wasteland?” asked the stranger. “Forgive me, friend, but the climate alone could be the death of you and your family. There must be a fierce calamity awaiting you if you would risk their lives in this barren landscape. There is nothing here.”
“Nothing,” repeated the resident, solemnly. “Nothing. That’s the reason we’re out here, sir, because there is nothing. We are alone. At least, we hoped we were. It seems we were wrong.”
The stranger shook his head, “Me, you mean? Oh no, friend, you are wrong. I am just a visitor to these parts, as are you, I deduce.”
The resident nodded his head. “Only for tonight though,” he whispered. “Tomorrow, well… who knows?”
“So, you’re not actually headed anywhere?”
“No, sir, we’re not. We just keep moving, hiding, staying as safe as we can.”
“Safe from what?” asked the stranger.
“From them,” replied the resident, his eyes now fixed firmly on the entrance to the cave. “Just seems there’s more and more of them. Only a matter of time before they catch up with us, I’m just hoping it’ll be a long time before that happens. If I can hide my family somewhere safe and draw them away, they might give up once they get me.”
“Who are they?”
The resident locked eyes with the stranger, “The dragons,” he whispered.
The stranger looked shocked, “Dragons?” he asked. “There are dragons here?”
The resident looked up at him, “Well, I’m hoping there aren’t, that’s why I brought my family out here. I know the scent of a dragon once it’s visited a place, and I don’t smell it here.”
“But why would a dragon hunt you and your family? No offence but you’re not exactly the largest of prey.”
“Nothing to do with size, it doesn’t see us as food as far as I can tell,” growled the resident. “To be honest, I don’t know why it wants us. Just a few days ago there were a lot more of us, until the attack.” The stranger could hear the anger in his voice beginning to grow as he continued. “It found us. Husbands, brothers, mothers, children, it didn’t care. They were trampled, burnt to a crisp by its fiery breath or mercilessly torn apart by its claws and gnashing teeth.”
“My dear fellow, that’s dreadful!” breathed the stranger. “However did you manage to escape?”
“Sheer luck,” replied the resident, lowering his head. “We were in a blind panic. The night was pitch black, but the dragon fire was behind us so we ran as hard as we could. Before we knew what was happening, we were rolling down a huge bank of rock. It was covered with moss and, now I think about it, it must have cushioned our fall. We reached the bottom relatively unharmed, oh, a few bumps and bruises and scrapes and the like, but nothing serious. We hid until daybreak and crept away as quietly as we could. Luckily the dragon never came after us. We just kept moving and luckily, we found this cave and took shelter here.”
“And you’ve obv
iously managed to evade it since.”
The resident nodded, “Know what the strangest thing is?” he asked.
The stranger shook his head.
“Strangest thing is why I’m telling you about it,” he said.
His unexpected guest smiled, “I can understand your confusion. People have always seemed to confide in me, it’s never been any different. Whenever anyone has a problem or simply needs to bend an ear, they tend to seek me out.”
“Why would they do that?” asked the resident, warily. “Who are you?”
The stranger held out his hand, “How rude of me,” he chuckled, “Barden,” he replied, “Barden Oldman… and I have a gift for you.”
***
“Nearly there, Stitch, nearly there,” said Ballorn, enthusiastically. “Just a few places that need thinning out a bit and we’ll be done. You’ll need to use that small mallet over there, grab it for me, will you?”
Stitch reached across, but immediately drew back his hand, “No, I can’t pick that up. Not a chance!” he said emphatically.
Ballorn frowned at him, “What do you mean, you can’t pick it up? You’ve been using tools twice that size all morning.”
Stitch looked sheepishly at him, “No, I didn’t mean it’s too heavy,” he said quietly, “I meant I can’t pick it up.”
Ballorn looked confused, “Why not?” he asked, impatiently.
Stitch lowered his head, “There’s a spider on it!” he whispered.
“What!” exclaimed Ballorn.
“I can’t help it!” Stitch squeaked apologetically. “I don’t like spiders! All those legs and their beady little eyes.” He shuddered, “Ugly, horrible, creepy-crawlies. I can’t stand ‘em!”
“So, you’re alright with chasing after a fifty-foot dragon, but you’re scared of a tiny spider!” exclaimed Ballorn.
Mark of The Nibrilsiem: Set before The Ascension of Karrak (The Karrak Trilogy Book 4) Page 9
