[994] – Y04.094 – Fools and Smiths

[994] – Y04.094 – Fools and Smiths

‘I should pay more attention to the Iyr’s stories,’ Adam thought, his eyes following the Order members who left. ‘Who would have thought that old lady was pretty strong?’

Jaygak walked through the town in the evening. She inhaled the crisp cool air within her lungs, the heaviness of the chill relieving the burdens in her heart. She wandered aimlessly for a long while, ignoring the trailing shadow behind her, and though she thought to break away to tease him, she decided against it.

“The sky in the North is so much darker,” Jaygak said, having taken a seat upon the wooden bench.

“Yeah,” Adam replied.

Their conversation was silent, unspoken, as the pair relaxed beside one another. Adam poured her a drink, and she poured him a drink, and the pair sat together. The alcohol warmed them up, allowing their thoughts to pass by. The half elf, who sometimes was possessed by genius, revealed the cheese he had brought, and the pair ate them slowly, until there was no more.

Adam threw a look towards Jaygak, who remained focused on the sky. He pat his legs to break the silence, and hoisted himself up. “See you at the Guild, Jay.”

“Okay.”

Adam left, still feeling an awkwardness within him, but he was glad they had a short while together. He had no idea of the other figure stepping out of the shadow who had taken his place.

“Okay?” Kitool asked.

“Okay,” Jaygak replied.

Their conversation fell silent. The cool wind accompanied them, the critters of the night’s liveliness, and their soft breaths.

“Kitool?”

“Yes?”

Jaygak turned her head to look at the young woman who had been there with her since her memories began. “I beat him?”

“You did.”

Jaygak turned her head, staring ahead of her once more, recalling the fight earlier in the day. The intense focus. The thunder which rocked through her, the flash of holy magic, her body overcoming the magic with ease. Adam and Jurot, she was certain, were thinking of dying before losing. However, she was too weak to have such thoughts. She had wanted to put in a good show for her family, and somehow, somehow, she had managed to defeat someone like Sir Rory Eastspear, of the Golden Spears.

Tears fell down her cheeks, but the silence continued between them. Finally, blowing her nose into her cloth, the young woman leaned over, staring down at the floor. She rested her head against the back of her backs, losing herself to her exhaustion and her thoughts.

“Let us return,” Kitool eventually said, holding out her hand.

“Kitool.”

“Yes?”

“I think this is it.”

Kitool felt her heart drop, but she fought off her feelings. “Okay.”

The tournament continued. Adam fought again, for the third time, and the crowd began to realise that he had no doubt offended someone, or, perhaps, he wished to fight daily for renown. They respected both reasons, since, either way, he was fighting more than perhaps any other within the tournament.

Jaygak fought a Priest the next day, and though he oppressed her with his Spirit Sentinels, she shrugged off the invading magic which dared to strike her, and defeated him with her blade. Even now, she was still confused, since she was finding fighting far too easy for someone like her.

Jurot almost crippled another figure with his great strength, and the others began to understand why he seemed so confident, and why the Grand Duchess had sponsored him.

Unfortunately for the group, the returns on their bets began to quickly dwindle, even for those bets for Jaygak.

‘At least Kitool is making us bank,’ Adam thought, though it didn’t surprise him one bit that she had beat all her foes.

Jurot and Adam made their way through the town, towards the smoke in the distance where a smith still worked, even while the tournament was in full swing. The smithy was built into the side of the mountain, and the smith was an old man, too old, almost as old as the Grand Duchess, but built like a bear. He was slightly taller than Adam, but easily carried the weight of one and half Adams. Bald, with a bandanna to catch his sweat, a thick beard, charred at the edges. He was hairy, his hair white, but Adam noted the brand against the side of his arm, that of a circle with four dots within the centre.

‘Whoa,’ Adam thought, eyeing up the steel across wall. Each was like typical steel, but lighter in shade, with specks of what seemed to be frost within. ‘Should I buy Larot one of these too?’

The smith eventually stopped working on the small segment of steel, one which would take form of a dagger, and he placed it to one side. “What do you need?”

“How much for one of your blades?”

“If you need to ask, this is the wrong smithy for you, boy.”

“You know, sometimes the North really does feel like the South,” Adam said, noting even Jurot threw him a look.

The old man narrowed his eyes, inhaling sharply a moment. “One fifty for the swords displayed on the racks, five hundred for the blade hung upon the wall.”

“Jurot, what do you think? A sword for Larot, a pair of axes for Virot and Damrot?”

“It would be best.”

“Hmm,” Adam thought, glancing around. “Are you a weaponsmith, or do you also make shields?”

“I make shields, but I prefer working with icesteel.”

“Can, or rather, should icesteel only be used for weapons?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Icesteel strikes harder than other steel.”

“Ah.” Adam slowly nodded his head. “I’m a smith too, but I’m not really familiar with all the different types of steel.”

The bear smith narrowed his eyes towards the half elf, before his eyes fell to Jurot. “Did you give the boy that shield?”

“No.”

“How did he come to get it?”

“My cousin, Turot, gifted it to him.”

“I heard that the Mad Dog took a Vice Commander’s arm, of the Black Moon.”

“He did.”

The bear smith glanced towards the Iyrman, who nodded. “So seventy gold now, six thousand one hundred and thirty later, and we will begin forging then?”

“We’ll probably order once we win the tournament, if you have the items in stock, then please slip them aside.”

“Okay,” the smith replied. He had handed over to Jurot a weapon that had been worth five hundred gold, but it appeared that he was going to make so much more in return.

“Oh! “Adam said. “Can you also make small scales out of icesteel, or whatever nice metals you have?”

“Yes?”

“How much for each scale?” Adam asked, showing the vague size and shape he wanted.

“It would depend on the metal, but a few copper to a silver per scale.”

“Then please make a bunch of those, and I’ll pay for those upfront. Say...” Adam paused. “Depends on how many you can make per day. Wait, actually, please make them bigger, like.” Adam froze again, thinking deeply.

‘...’ Jurot eyed up Adam, who was definitely thinking something serious.

“Can you instead make little...” Adam frowned. “Damn it.”

“What is wrong?”

“Little items of metal are pretty bad to give to kids. They’ll suck on them and there’s a chance they’ll choke.”

“What of bands?”

“Bands?” Adam replied.

“Sometimes the children like to wear bands over their arms.”

“Ah,” Adam said. “That’s a good idea.”

“That is more in the realms of jewellery, but we can make them,” the bear smith stated.

“Then please, some of those, and make sure their edges are smooth.”

“Metalwork of the North is used to cut beasts, not children.” The old bear smith flexed his muscles, and the other smiths did similar, full of pride.

“Oh,” Adam said. “Jurot, let’s win, and buy the weapons, and then when we make our way back, let’s kill a bunch more hydras!”

“Firesteel is better for dealing with hydras,” the old bear smith said. “We have some too. Not enough for so many weapons.”

“Hmm...” Adam frowned. ‘Damn. Firesteel sounds so cool.’

“Please make the swords out of firesteel,” Jurot said.

“Will you be staying through the Twilight Month?” the bear smith asked.

Adam glanced away, unable to respond, though Jurot nodded.

“Wyvern got your tongue, boy?”

“I got married last Twilight Month, and I’ll miss our first anniversary, so that’s why I have to win the tournament.”

“I see,” the old bear smith replied, vaguely understanding Adam’s thoughts. ‘He’s a little queer, but he’s got a Notherner’s spirit.’ “We’ll begin work soon on the weapons and shields we do not have in stock, and you can return some time during the Twilight Month for your work.”

“We might come by during the start of the next year instead,” Adam said.

“Alright.”

“Do you make rings too?” Jurot asked.

“I can.”

“I would like a ring of icesteel.”

“It is quite cold.”

Jurot blinked. “You are right.”

“What about a box made of icesteel? Pam might like that.”

“Yes, that-,” Jurot began, only to pause into his thoughts. “No. It must be a ring, for our anniversary.”

“Oh, right.” Adam thought. ‘Should I get a ring too? No, I can’t get the same thing.’ “Wait, Jurot, should it be a ring? She is a baker, it might get in the way?”

“Hmm.” Jurot crossed his arms. “A necklace?”

“Yeah. That makes sense. What should I get for Vonda? A ring? No. A bracelet. I’d like seven bracelets made of whatever metal, fairly smallish, and a bigger bracelet made of, oh, not icesteel, but... something a little nicer.”

“Pay a hundred gold now and we’ll consider it part of the order,” the smith said, before his thoughts fell on the most obvious thoughts one could think of in this moment. ‘Are they really the Mad Dog’s grandchildren?’



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