Martin arrived back at the Academy before the others. Like the home he had just left, it was early morning here. He had gone straight through the gate behind the manor and then through the gate near Sir Finebottom’s home. He was keen to get back to the Academy, to the safety of a realm away from his mother’s anger. On one hand, he had wanted to stay, to spend more time with the twins, his parents and his friends but it did not feel right. The mundanity of the Covenant village and become too sharp a contrast to the life he had led in the last three months. So, despite the fact that he had more time off, and that none of the group would be back for a few days more, he returned and made his way back to the familiarity of the Academy.
He found a letter in his room, addressed to him by the Academy, stating what he had been told to expect, his room was his as long as he desired and he could access Academy resources at need, though only to use them, not to take ownership of them. He did not think he would use it much, though having access to the library would be a great boon. While waiting for the rest of the group to return he thought to use the time to satisfy his curiosity and to see the forge that had been made available.
He made his way through the streets of Comfor. He had grown used to them, to the strange sounds and smells, the beings that populated them that just a few months ago had seemed so strange. The map that had been supplied, along with requisition forms, took him past Master Ander’s forge. He waved when he saw the Master and received a smile in return. However, unlike what Master Anders expected he continued walking, making his way to more genteel part of the craftsmen’s quarter.
The building housing his forge was not large, but would normally house more than a single blacksmith, and was made up of three stories. The lowest level was the forge, and he saw how carefully crafted the chimneys and flues for the furnaces were crafted, dissipating their smoke above the roof, but he could also see how pipes near the forge could be used to warm water that was kept in a large tank mounted on the outside of the building. An efficient design, and he could see how even in the absence of a smith the forge fire was lit to produce heat so those above would have hot water. The walls held hooks, on which tools hung. Forks, tongs, spoons, hammers, files, and rasps were all present, arranged neatly in careful orders to find the desired weight, roughness or shape as needed.
Towards the back, away from the heat of the forge stood other tables. One was set out with leatherworking tools, all the necessary tools of the trade to pattern, cut and harden leather in easy reach. Another table would have made any jeweller proud, fine magnifying glasses supplemented the tools. But he noticed that it did not only contain tools for gems and jewellery but the fine inscribing tools for carving runes into smaller items, a supplement to those he had found amongst the tools for forging.
The bins along the side held ores. All high grades. Some were easily recognised. Iron, copper, tin, magnesium and lead were easily identifiable, but others he was not familiar with. One he saw and quailed at its expense, was two ingots of mithril. He shuddered at the cost of that, a metal Master John would never have seen it is only found in the Fae lands and rarely brought out. He set it aside, his skills were too infantile, too undeveloped to even think of forging it. At the moment the best he could achieve would be to damage and destroy the precious metal. He would work, he would improve, and when he reached the necessary skill level, he would ask Master Anders how to forge it. He had seen mithril in his forge but had never seen it worked.
“Martin.” He looked up to see Master Anders at the door, looking around the forge. “This is yours? It is well set up.”
Martin blushed, knowing that it was not just a well setup smithy, but a dream setup for a lone smith, the equipment quality far greater than most had access to.
“A gift from the Magisters.” Martin looked at Master Anders, then at the forge and its wealth. “It seems wasted on me. So much here, so much given to me, yet I don’t know how often I will even be here to use it.” He looked at the Master sheepishly, “Truthfully, they should have given such a gift to you. You would be able to do so much for the city!”
Master Anders came forward, reaching out his hand to clasp Martin on the shoulder. “Nonsense Journeyman. You have something I will never have. You are the Awakened of Hiphate. I can make blades finer than any mundane smith.” Martin looked at him in surprise, in all the time he had spent in the forge, he had never known that Master Anders was Awakened. The Master continued, “I am Awakened by Cherev, so I have the power to enchant blades, to embed runes within, but even with all my skills I will never reach what you can do with the power of your Patron Hiphate.”
“Forgive me Master, but I have not heard of the Power Cherev. What is his domain?”
“Cherev? He is one of the Middle Powers. His domain is quite narrow, weapon smithing. At least it is better than a minor power like Saken whose domain is restricted to knives.” He smiled, “My Patron does well for me. I am considered one of the finest weaponsmiths for the Awakened, not just in this realm, but in others. Though I struggle with armour commissions. I can make armour, I can even sometimes embed a rune within, but doing so will leave me weak and mana burned. Now you, you are Awakened by Hiphate! How much more will you do than those of us bound to the lesser smithing Powers!”
“Master, you jest! I have seen your work. It is far superior to mine. I need to learn from you. I will never make the mistake of thinking that merely because I have Hiphate as a Patron I am superior!” He bowed to the Master and thought he heard a soft chuckle in the back of his head, a deep voice that whispered to him, “Good, I hate hubris!”
Master Anders turned to go, looking around the forge again. “You don’t see what this is? It is the Magisters bribing you. They know you are a boon, and that you will contribute greatly. They buy your friendship, your future grace. They are right of course. You deserve this, you will work hard, and we can only try to imagine what great feats of smithing you will produce in times to come.” He stopped, and gave Martin a short bow, “You will always be welcome in my forge. Come learn when you have a need. And“, he grunted, “just send for Sean when you need a forge boy. I have too many apprentices and they sit idle too much of the time.” He marched off, and Martin was amused at the Master’s excuse. He had seen those working in his forge and knew that no apprentice sat idle under the Master’s gaze!
He returned to the metal bins, going through their contents, thinking of what he should make. He thought of his previous encounters, how he lacked proper armour, something that would bolster his defence. He was not keen to start on body armour. It would take a while for him to get used to fighting in it. The short-term solution seemed to be a helmet. At least his head should be protected, and he would be careful to make sure that it did nothing to restrict his vision while providing him as much protection as possible.
He added wood to the forge, watching the wood catch, working the bellows to get it to heat. And while he waited for the wood to become charcoal, for the fire to reach an even temperature he went to the metal bins, retrieving the iron and other metals he would need to mix to create a strong steel He was delighted with the contents of the bins, but wondered what he was supposed to use the requisition forms for. He could see nothing missing from the forge.
Once the forge was in heat he got to work. The upper walls of the forge could be lowered to allow airflow and reduce the internal heat, bars across them preventing anyone from entering. He saw a small group of people watching through the bars from a balcony across the way as he worked. A few pointed at the mark of Hiphate on his chest, but all remained respectfully silent. The day passed, and he worked, hammering the metal to shape, working it carefully to avoid blemishes and cracks in the metal. Once the base helmet was done, he forged plates that would attach to the leather he would place in the helmet for comfort, the plates overlapping and going down his neck to protect it.
He finally got the base piece done, the helmet-shaped, the plates ready. He grunted, satisfied for now. In the morning, he would continue when fresh, embedding the runes he planned and then tempering and quenching, making sure it was strong enough to fulfil its function without breaking or being brittle. He closed the upper windows, a satisfying click showing bolts going into place and locking them down, and the heat rising from the still burning forge. He stepped out and found a small boy sitting outside kicking stones. When he saw him Martin he shuffled over.
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“Master Smith, my Ma says she needs to give you the keys to your apartment above.”
Martin looked at the boy, no different to any of the others who ran through the streets when not out at lessons or doing whatever chores their families required. “My apartment? Are you sure your mother meant me?”
The boy looked at him and then at the closed forge behind him. “My Ma said I must call the man that is smithing downstairs. There isn’t another in there?” He looked quite fearful at the prospect, who knew how many more hours of boredom he would have to endure before the correct man arrived.
“No, I am the only one. Take me to your mother, I am sure she can explain.”
The boy looked happier, his nervousness at an even longer waiting swallowed by relief. He bounded around Martin, going into a door at the base of the building. They climbed the stairs, opening the door at the top of the first flight of stairs. The boy looked like the second flight, but no more. Seeing Martin watching him he shrugged, “Not allowed up there.”
They went into a short corridor, doors on either side showed that this floor held four apartments. The boy bounded to the first one, banging it open while calling out. “Ma, I brought the smith! I’m going to Kimmy to see the new puppies!” Freed of his obligation to bring the strange man here, he turned and ran. Going to see the puppies held far more interest than a sweaty smith!
Martin looked at the woman coming down the stairs. From the look of it, she was not that much older than him, but even those few years had not treated her kindly. Her face was lined, pockmarks covering part of it, and one hand seemed palsied or damaged in some way. Her hair was greying prematurely and cut short, though at least it was neat. She came forward, holding a ring of keys in her damaged hand.
“You the one that owns the forge downstairs? Here are the keys to your apartment, upstairs is yours.” She thrust the keys at Martin, clearly not interested in small talk. Martin took them, a bit surprised at the turn of events. They had said he had the deed for the forge, not an apartment. The woman continued talking, clearly not finished. “Rents are paid on the second day of each month. I collect ‘em and bring ‘em to you. I get to live here in return for looking after the other three apartments here.” She looked at Martin anxiously, “You not planning on changing the arrangement, are you?”
“No, ma’am.” He smiled at her, perhaps some of her abrasiveness was fear. After all, where would she find other work with a crippled hand? “I am happy for you to continue. But I do not understand. Why are you giving the rent to me?”
She looked at him as if he was a dullard. “You own the forge, doncha? The whole building is considered part of the forge, it’s all yours, Young Master.” She muttered to herself, and he could barely make out the words “boy”, “candle” and “ran off again.” Making her way to a small side table she retrieved a small lamp and lit its candle.
“Here, use this to go up the stairs and for tonight. Return it in the morning.” She handed the lamp to Martin who took it, not expecting this kind of gesture from her. He shrugged, maybe now knowing her place was secure she could relax. He left her apartment and looked back and could see no hint of light. He frowned, realising that she had most likely given him her only source of light. It was a far greater gift than he had thought, and it humbled him, doubly convincing him that the woman and the child would stay where they were.
His apartment at the top of the stairs was large. It covered the entire upper floor of the building and had far more rooms than he needed. It had been furnished with well-made and functional furniture, though nothing elaborate. The one exception was his bedroom. There he found it an almost mirror image of his room in the Academy, including the bookshelf with his books and the cupboard with his clothes. Surprised, he examined them and noted the wear marks and decorations. This was not just like his furniture at the Academy, it was his furniture from the Academy, yet it had all been there when he had entered his room there earlier. He shrugged, putting it down to just one more mystery of magic he would have to come to terms with.
In the entranceway to his room, he had found one of the ever-burning lamps that he had seen at Sir Finebottoms house. Giving it just a small jolt of mana to get it going, he made his way back down the stairs. He knocked at the woman’s door, waiting for her to answer. When she did, she stared in surprise out of the darkness at Martin and his lamp. He handed the other lamp back to her with a small bow.
“Thank you for the loan, it was much appreciated. By the way, I am Martin.” He finished talking, waiting for her.
Mechanically taking the lamp back she looked at him. She could see he was still young, but his height and bulk would dwarf many men. It would be good to have him living here, it would keep unwanted elements away, at least it would be good if he was not one of those unwanted elements. “I am Astrid. The boy that brought you here is Bram.” She nodded, then stepped back, closing the door behind her. Martin was a bit bemused but felt that at least some progress had been made in calming her fears.
He awoke in the morning to a cock’s crow. He dressed quickly in sturdy work clothes and made his way downstairs. He was mentally preparing for what he had to do for the day. Clear the ash and leftovers from the forge, fire it and keep it burning while he prepared the runes on the helmet, then get it to temperature, and heat cycle the metal before final quenching of each part. Then assembly, polishing and testing. He did not know if he would complete it all in one day, but he hoped he could otherwise he would simply sleep here for yet another night.
He entered the forge, going to the cupboard to retrieve the tools to clean the forge. Instead, he saw a man there, bent over, coaxing the flames. He nodded at Martin, going back to his task. When the blaze was going, he turned to Martin, smiling and revealing a mouth with many a gap instead of teeth.
“Morning m’lord. Names Pamby. I clean and stoke this each day. Their Lordships pay me, and I make sure it is as should be.” He turned back to the forge, watching the fire, not waiting for Martin’s reply. Martin just stood there, wondering what other surprises the Magisters had laid in wait for him. Still, without needing to concern himself with getting the forge to a working temperature he could concentrate on his work.
He sat down, making sure the light was good. He opened the shutters and noted the increased crowd on the balconies looking in, He quailed a bit, he was not used to the attention even if he was more comfortable and understood where it was coming from, he was still Martin the Journeyman Smith, he did not feel like the almighty Awakened of a Greater Power. He tried to put those watching out of his mind and bent to his task.
The inscribing tools they had provided were superb. He knew he should stick to just one rune, but he decided to stretch, to take the risk and place an extra rune onto it. Just onto the helmet, and the neckpieces he would not take the risk and would place just one.
On the inside of the helmet, he carefully inscribed the rune for strength, hoping this would prevent it from getting pierced or pulverised out of shape. The second rune he placed was a minor one, a simpler one to reduce its weight. He hoped that the minor rune would not carry the same risk as if he placed two major runes. The inscription done he prepared himself. He held the helmet in his hands, focussed his will and felt the mana move, from his fingers into the helmet. He struggled with the flow, feeling the mana fill the runes, the way the runes greedily sucked up his power. He concentrated and felt his hands burn as he directed and controlled the mana. Two whirling vortices sucking at him. Yet he found the centre, held on, and when the one vortex was filled, he could easily control the other. Both runes were empowered, and both burned with power. He felt the emptying of his mana and knew he would need to take longer to do the neck pieces. He just did not have enough mana to do more than two today, and he had already exhausted himself doing the helmet. He got up, deciding to return to the Academy and study in the library. He would be able to do no further work in the forge this day.
Over the next three days, he managed to empower each of the neck pieces. On the third day, he was also able to finally finish the tempering and quenching though it was only on the fourth day that he got to finish it properly. The helmet gleamed after he had finished polishing it, the neck pieces attached to the leather sheet that fell over his back. He knew it to be good work and could not wait for the others to return so he could show it off. He had not levelled up, but he knew he had grown, and so had his skills. He peered into his chronicle, wanting to know how much he had changed.
