Warriors [4] Theros Ironfield (16 page)

Theros was sure there was even more in the kender’s possession, but the pile was nearly a foot and a half high—nearly a hundred items lay there—when he set the kender down.

The kender was offended. “Never before in the history of the Trapspringers has such an injustice been performed!” The little fellow jumped about, trying to retrieve his precious possessions. All attempts were blocked by the huge smith.

“Yuri,” Theros ordered, “sort through that stuff and take out everything that is mine.”

Yuri sifted through the items, discovering the pair of tongs, a leather needle, a small dagger and leather thongs. He set these aside. The remaining items were a marvel. There were, among other things, maps of all shapes and descriptions, jewels, a purse of gold, an apple pastry that looked as if it had been through the Cataclysm, tiny mechanical items that neither Yuri nor Theros could
fathom, a book of dwarven recipes, several buttons from a fancy tunic, a pair of wrist restraints, a silver goblet with Solamnic heraldry on it, and a small bag of glass beads.

Yuri looked over a knife, handed it to Theros. “I don’t think it’s one of yours, sir.”

Theros studied the weapon. Sure enough, the design was good, but not one of Theros’s. He tossed it back into the pile.

“That’s for slaying rabbits!” Trapspringer proudly announced. “It was given to me by my Aunt Slipjail! That’s what I came to talk to you about.”

From still another pocket, one Theros had missed, the kender pulled out a purse. “Look, I have money. I want you to make me something.”

Theros eyed the purse. “That’s a woman’s purse. How much gold is in there?”

Yuri picked it up and counted the coins. His eye caught something else in the pile, and he pulled out another purse. This, too, had gold in it. “He must have stolen it.”

The kender was outraged. “Steal? Steal! How dare you! That’s a present from some ladies I met in Palanthas. Or was it Solace?”

Yuri counted the money in the second purse. “All told, he’s got ninety-one gold pieces!”

Theros shook his head. He turned back to the kender. “What do you want us to make for you? A knife? A small sword?”

The kender’s eyes brightened. “I already have a knife. And I don’t think I’d be much good at using a sword. What do you have to offer?”

Theros thought for a moment. During the scuffle, he had ripped the kender’s jerkin. “How about a brand-new jerkin?”

The kender hopped up and down. “Will it have lots of pockets? Could you make it in bright colors? Will it have a fancy fastener in the front? Could I hide things up the sleeve?”

“Yuri will make you a colorful leather jerkin with lots of pockets. He will put steel strips inside to armor it against small blades, and line it so that it is warm in the winter. It
will cost the same amount of gold that you have in those purses. Is it a deal?”

Trapspringer’s topknot had swung back and forth as he nodded vigorously. Theros had ordered the kender to return in a week and Yuri had begun work immediately.

The week was up. The jerkin was nearly finished. Yuri was inserting the last of the metal strips, fastening them to the material, then covering them. From the outside, there was no indication that the coat was anything special. There were, however, thirty-one different pockets and pouches built into the lining and sleeves of the piece. Yuri was pleased with his work. He had designed it himself.

Theros thought it was fine work, but he never said so. Discipline must be maintained.

Yuri was, as usual, prattling. “I think I’d make a good kender, you know, sir! Wouldn’t it be a fun life? Always traveling about, meeting interesting people.”

Theros grunted. He was in no mood for banter. He was never in the mood. Life was harsh and hard and the sooner young people like Yuri learned that lesson, the better.

“Hurry up and finish. I don’t want that kender back in this shop.”

Yuri finished within the hour and took the jerkin outside. He waited for only a few moments before Trapspringer came dashing up the street.

Theros, interested in spite of himself, kept watch through the window. The kender flung his arms around Yuri in a friendly hug. Yuri was probably thankful he’d been careful to empty his pockets before coming out.

“Is it done? Is it done? What’s it look like?” Trapspringer hopped up and down with excitement.

Yuri held up the finished jerkin. The kender was ecstatic. He actually kept quiet with joy for about three seconds.

He tried the jacket on. It fit well. The three brass fasteners were actually crate fasteners, but the kender didn’t know that and they held the coat together. He explored every pocket and seam. Finally, the kender took off the jacket and inspected the exterior. The back and front had been painted with clothing dyes of different colors, which effectively concealed several of the hidden pockets. The
seams were all but invisible. Theros thought the color combination was truly hideous, but it appeared to be perfect for Trapspringer.

“So, it is to your liking?” Yuri asked.

“And you say this has armor built right in, do you?” Trapspringer was too excited to answer. “Well, fascinating! Now, I am fully prepared to give you this rather nifty purse—”

“Two purses,” Yuri reminded him. “There were two of them.”

“Um, well, I don’t have both purses anymore. I have just the one.” The kender rummaged through one of his pouches and came up with one of the purses. The gold was still in it, but where was the second purse?

“What do you intend to give in place of the second purse? After all, we did have a deal. It is a matter of honor.” Yuri lowered his voice to try to sound like Theros, much to Theros’s secret amusement.

The kender looked puzzled for a moment, then began rooting through the pouches again. He came up with a dog’s skull. “These are the bones of an ancient dragon from way back in antiquity. You could have it, I suppose, but—”

“That might be an ancient poodle,” Yuri said in disgust. “It’s certainly not a dragon.”

The kender dropped the skull back into the pouch and kept looking. “Not interested in any maps, are you?”

Yuri shook his head.

A shiny rock fell from the pouch as Trapspringer dug deeper inside. The rock was a silver nugget easily the size of a man’s fist. Yuri bent down and picked it up. “What about this?”

“That? My paperweight? Oh, sure, if you really want it. I have better rocks than that.”

Yuri held the nugget up, examining it. Theros, just by looking, figured that the nugget was easily worth thirty gold pieces. Yuri counted out another thirty from the purse. The kender was still short by about thirty pieces of gold. Theros kept quiet, waited to see what Yuri would do.

The kender had doffed his old jacket and was transferring all of the items from the old to the new. Half an hour
later, after “oh, that’s where that went,” and “I didn’t know I had one of these!” he put the new jerkin on.

“Is it a deal?” the kender asked eagerly.

Yuri obviously liked the kender and was pleased with the fact that the kender liked the jacket so much.

“A deal,” Yuri said at last.

Theros frowned.

Trapspringer shook Yuri’s hand, pumping it up and down, and thanked him for the jerkin. Yuri extracted himself, quickly, checking that he still had the purse and the silver nugget.

Trapspringer ran off and Yuri went back inside the forge.

Theros put down his work. “So, did he pay what he promised?”

“No, sir, not exactly. He had thirty pieces of gold and a silver nugget worth at least thirty. I think—”

Theros smacked the young man across the face.

“An honorable deal is an honorable deal. He should have paid what was agreed, or you should have kept the jacket and called the guard on him!”

Yuri shrank back. “I’m sorry, sir, it’s just that I—”

“That’s all I want to hear from you. ‘Sorry’ doesn’t cut it when honor is breached! He will spread the word that I can be made a fool of!” Theros went back to his work and began pounding with vigor again.

Yuri crept back to his work.

The young man certainly had a lot to learn.

* * * * *

Near closing time, when the sun was casting long shadows across the town, a man entered the smithy. He was dressed in a brown cloak. His hood was pulled low over his head and face. He shut the door behind him and stood for a moment, letting his eyes become accustomed to the contrast of dark intermingled with the bright fire from the forge. Saying nothing, he pulled the hood from his head.

The man was probably in his late forties or early fifties, judging by his short-cropped gray hair. His teeth were jagged, with a few missing, and he sported at least two
scars across the left cheek. At this, Theros had the feeling that the man looked familiar, but he couldn’t place him.

A soldier, Theros determined. A veteran, at that. Theros knew he’d seen him before. But where? Probably in the street or the tavern.

Theros kept hammering. He had finished with the raw shape of the new sword, and was now honing the blade to a fine edge. A minute later, he put down the hammer and thrust the sword back into the fire. He turned to the newcomer.

“What can I do for you, stranger? New sword, or a dagger perhaps?”

The man stood motionless for a moment, studying the smith. “You are Theros Ironfeld, once a slave to the minotaurs, now a member of the Hrolk Clan. Am I right?”

The old names and faces returned to memory after a long absence. “Yes, I am Theros Ironfeld. Not that it should matter to you who I am. Do you want a weapon or armor?”

The man raised a leather-clad hand. “All in good time, Ironfeld. I understand that you charge high prices for your services and that you won’t bargain. Are you truly as good as you claim to be?”

Theros shrugged. “Ask anyone in Sanction. They’ll tell you whether or not I am worth the price. You judge the quality of my work yourself.”

The man glanced at several swords lying on a table, but did not touch them.

“I also understand that you came to Sanction looking for Dargon Moorgoth. But you lost interest, apparently. You never came to see him. Would you be interested in seeing him now?”

“I am making money, and I don’t have to go looking for anyone now,” Theros replied. “No, I am not interested in meeting Baron Dargon Moorgoth. Why?”

The brown-robed man studied him intently “It turns out that Dargon Moorgoth is looking for
you
, Ironfeld. He wants to meet with you tonight. Will you come?”

The idea of finally meeting the great Baron Dargon Moorgoth was an appealing one. Theros was going to close down his shop for the night anyway. He had no one to go
home to, so why not? Perhaps Moorgoth needed a fine sword. Behind the man, Yuri was listening and nodding wildly. This could make both their fortunes.

“Tell Baron Moorgoth that I will meet him at the Belching Fury Inn and Pub on Center Street. Tell him to bring his purse, because he’s picking up the tab. I will be there an hour after my shop closes.”

Theros turned his back on the stranger. Taking the sword out of the fire and going back to the anvil, he picked up the hammer and began pounding again. The stranger left.

At least, Theros thought, I’ll get a free meal out of it, if nothing else.

Chapter 15

The room in the Belching Fury was dark and smoky. The fire on the
far side wall wasn’t vented very well. Some days, it was difficult to see through the haze of wood smoke and smoke from pipeweed. The food was tinged with the same taste as the smell; smoke permeated everything.

Theros didn’t care. It wasn’t half as bad as standing near a hot forge all day, pounding metal into shape. The real secret of the pub’s success was its method of keeping ale cold. No one—at least no one who was talking—would reveal the secret of how the kegs were kept chilled. The barmaids would descend to the basement and retrieve large mugs of the brew and bring them back up. No one else was allowed down there.

The contrast from hot food and hot fire to the icy cold drink was truly something to cherish. Theros finished his first mug at a draught and hungrily tore into half a loaf of bread and a bowl of chicken stew. He couldn’t taste the smoky flavor that everyone complained about. It was lost on him. Minotaurs were far less delicate in their eating habits.