Theros Ironfield

Book Three
Chapter 14

“I will not leave you in the Abyss. Your blood would be on my head. Your clan would seek revenge. If you want to get off here, you must pay double the fare.”

“This isn’t the Abyss!” Theros snorted. “It’s a city, like any other, except that it is reputed to need a good smith more than most. I’ve paid my passage. Take me into port.”

The minotaur captain shook his horned head. “You must pay for the privilege. That way no friend of yours will accuse me of selling you.”

Grumbling, Theros paid. The minotaur ship sailed into port. Olifac hustled Theros off without ceremony. The minotaur crew lined the rails, armed to the teeth, ready for any hostile action. This done, they weighed anchor and sailed with the tide, off to find glory in battle.

Theros walked along the docks and entered the town of Sanction. He had to admit he was not much impressed with what he saw, was beginning to think he’d made a mistake.

Sanction had the reputation of being an evil place. Nestled in the cradle of three large volcanoes-the Lords of Doom-the town of Sanction even smelled evil. Smoke choked its alleys. Canals of molten lava flowed through the town as waterways would through other cities. The heat and gases pouring off the flows made breathing difficult. People went about with their faces muffled, mouths and noses covered. Yet Sanction was a bustling, thriving town. Perhaps because it was a town that never asked questions of anyone.

The business section was crowded with warehouses, shops and markets. People shoved and pushed their way through the crowded streets. No one smiled or muttered a hello or good-day to Theros. Each person appeared to be engrossed in his or her own private business.

Theros spent his first day in Sanction roaming the streets, watching the people. He’d never seen so many different races. Humans were the predominant race, but mingled among them were the small chattering kender (of whom Theros had been warned), grim stocky dwarves, the occasional skulking goblin or hobgoblin, and half-breed mixes of every sort.

Theros was astounded to note that wizards-of both red and black robes-actually had the effrontery to set up mageware shops in Sanction. No other town would have permitted it. Theros gave the shops and shop owners a wide berth. He had no use for wizards.

He was, in fact, attempting to avoid falling into a refuse-filled gutter on one side of the street, while avoiding a wizardess on the other, when he brushed against someone.

“Sorry,” Theros said, starting to continue past.

“What do you mean, sorry?” A hoarse voice roared in his ear.

Theros looked down. A man clad in a bright maroon coat glared up at him, blocking Theros’s way. The man was of average height, but he reached only Theros’s broad shoulder. “You got dirt on my boots!”

The man pointed to a bit of mud on the toe of one boot.

“I said I was sorry, sir,” Theros repeated and started to walk around the man.

To his astonishment and ire, the man doubled up his fist and punched Theros hard in the chest.

“Clean it!” snarled the man.

“Clean it yourself,” said Theros and again started past.

Steel flashed. Voices growled. Theros was surrounded by six men in maroon coats, all carrying swords. Each sword was now pointed at his throat.

“Clean my boot,” the man repeated.

No minotaur alive would have suffered such an insult. Theros was just contemplating the fact that his stay in Sanction had been incredibly short-as had his life-when he felt the touch of a hand on his shoulder.

“Do as he says,” advised a voice, speaking the minotaur language. “There is small honor in dying in a gutter in Sanction. And you were in the wrong.”

Theros looked up to see a large minotaur, towering head and shoulders over everyone else in the street. What the minotaur said made sense. By now a crowd had gathered. Theros, feeling his skin burn, knelt down on the sidewalk, and using the cuff of his shirt, cleaned the man’s boot.

The man lifted his foot, planted it in Theros’s chest and shoved. Theros toppled over backward. Laughing, the man and his comrades strolled off.

Theros jumped to his feet, with half a mind to go after them. The minotaur stood eyeing Theros.

“I saw you leave Olifac’s ship. What are you? A freed slave?”

“Yes, sir,” said Theros, dusting himself off. He did not ask about the minotaur. For one, it wouldn’t be polite and for another, he noticed the notched mark on one of the minotaur’s horns-a badge of dishonor, made by the minotaur’s own relations. This was an outcast.

“Take my advice,” said the minotaur. “Forget it. No one gets the best of Baron Moorgoth’s men. They run Sanction, at least for now, until someone stronger comes along. You can either fight them and lose, or use your cunning and let them make your fortune for you.”

The minotaur walked off. Theros never saw the minotaur again, but he thought long and hard on the advice.

Baron Moorgoth. Could that be Huluk’s friend? Huluk never mentioned the fact that Dargon Moorgoth was a baron.

Now probably wouldn’t be a good time to go to the baron and remind him of old friendships. Theros had too much pride. He’d make it on his own. When he was successful, he’d go visit Moorgoth.

* * * * *

It took Theros almost a year of working odd jobs before he had saved enough money to purchase an old smithy in the merchant quarter. No smith of quality operated in the town, and this one had gone out of business years before. The shop had been turned into a warehouse, but the forge, central chimney and most of the workbenches still stood. A huge anvil languished in the corner. When Theros found it, it was stacked with crates of produce. To Theros, it was worth its weight in steel.

He purchased the building for a mere pittance, which was, in fact, all he had. He was forced to begin his business by sewing leather, in order to save up for the tools necessary to start metal smithing.

Six years later, he had an established shop. He owned one of the largest smithies in Sanction, with a reputation for making fine quality swords and daggers. He had Baron Moorgoth and his men in their maroon uniform coats to thank for his success.

Baron Moorgoth had arrived in Sanction with a large amount of wealth that he claimed was his inheritance. Rumors followed of a murdered uncle and stolen jewels, but no one could ever prove anything and Sanction wasn’t the town to believe all the gossip it heard. Through a number of wise investments in various businesses, Moorgoth doubled and tripled his wealth. He used his earnings to buy men and steel, and backed by these loyal supporters, he bought up even more of Sanction.

He claimed himself as nominal ruler of the town, although he refused to be bothered by such mundane matters as keeping law and order or making civic improvements. He had, by now, amassed a small army and was, rumor had it, looking to expand his holdings.

What Moorgoth did or didn’t do was now of no interest to Theros. He had worked hard over the years to develop his skills as a weapons-smith and was just now beginning to enjoy the fruits of his labors. He had even been able to take on an apprentice to do the tooled leatherwork and other chores, leaving Theros more time to concentrate on the craft of swordsmaking.

The smithy stood several blocks from the port area. The sign out front read, in Common, “Weapons and Armor. Theros Ironfeld, Proprietor.” Ironfeld was a name Theros chose for himself. It served both as a name and an advertisement. The name also showed he was proud of his skills. The sign’s lettering was crude, but the populace of Sanction didn’t mind. Most of them couldn’t read it anyway.

One of Moorgoth’s maroon-coated guardsmen was his first customer into the shop this day. Theros glanced at the man, nodded, but continued work. He hammered on hot metal, fashioning a new sword from molten steel. The guardsman, knowing he would not be heard above the din, waited impatiently for the smith to take a break.

Theros had not grown much in height during the past seven years, but he had increased his girth immensely since his days with the minotaurs. His arms were massive, muscles rippled. His chest was as big around as an enormous water barrel. His black skin glistened in the light of the forge. Compared to the minotaurs, he had been viewed as short and puny. Among humans, he was head and shoulders taller than most men. Now, when Theros walked the streets of Sanction, people skirted out of his way.

Theros straightened, groaning from the strain. The guardsman coughed to attract Theros’s attention. He turned to see who it was.

“Ah, Morik. You are here for a new scabbard! I told you you’d be back. That horrible, tattered scabbard is no house to keep the jewel I made for you.”

Theros was proud of the work-the first long sword of the season. A good sign, coming so early. It looked as if it was going to be a good year for business.

The guardsman pulled the blade from its scabbard. “Actually, no, Master Smith. The scabbard will do. Could you make a dirk to match the sword, though?”

Theros smiled. “I see you like the finer things in life, Morik. Yes, I can make you a matching dirk. Do you want your family crest on it, as before?”

The guardsman nodded.

“Very well,” Theros concluded. “It will cost you forty steel. Pay me half now and half on completion. It will take me two weeks.”

“Forty steel!” The guardsman gaped. “I could get it for fifteen down the street at Malachai the Dwarf’s!”

“Then do so,” Theros said. “You know the way.”

“Twenty pieces,” the guardsman bargained.

Theros didn’t even bother to answer. He turned back to his work. He was not interested in haggling. He was the only smith in the town capable of making a weapon of such fine quality. Malachai the Dwarf could not do much more than forge horseshoes and building nails.

The guardsman fretted and fumed and walked out, glancing over his shoulder, obviously hoping Theros would run after him. Theros continued to work. A few minutes later, the guardsman came back in. He had his purse in his hand.

“Yuri!” Theros bellowed.

A boy of sixteen dropped the leather gauntlet he was stitching and came forward from the back of the shop.

“Sir, that will be twenty steel in advance, please.”

It was the boy’s job to take the money.

Theros thrust the sword on which he was working back into the fire to reheat it. He overheard the conversation between the two.

“Doesn’t that bastard ever bargain?” the guardsman grumbled.

Yuri shook his head. He was proud of his master. “He doesn’t have to. He knows that if you want the weapon, you will pay. If you don’t, you won’t.” The boy held out his hand.

“He should watch who he offends in this town,” the guardsman muttered as he emptied the steel coins into the lad’s palm. “Some people might think he’s getting too big for his boots.”

The boy counted, nodded and went to the back of the shop to deposit the money in the strongbox. The guardsman stormed out.

Yuri returned. He paused a moment, gazing out the door to watch the guardsman leave.

“You have offended him, master. He is one of the baron’s top lieutenants. He thinks his position should have garnered him more respect, and thus a lower price.”

Theros snorted, a habit he had picked up from his days among the minotaurs. He paid no attention to the politics of the town of Sanction or any other town.

“Get back to work,” Theros said. “And I believe I’ve mentioned before that you’re to speak only when you’re spoken to.”

“Yes, master.” Yuri sighed.

Theros pretended he didn’t hear. He was training Yuri as an apprentice the same way Theros himself had been trained by the minotaurs. If that way was a bit harsh, it was the only way Theros knew and, he assumed, as good as any. Yuri lacked discipline in his life. And if Theros had to treat Yuri like a slave in order to instill discipline, Yuri would be the one to gain in the long run. At least, that was Theros’s view.

Yuri finished the gauntlet, began working on a small leather jerkin, putting metal strips inside the jacket to conceal the armor. The jerkin was bright green and decorated with painted designs across the front and back.

Theros, spotting it, glared at the boy. “Isn’t that jerkin done yet?”

Yuri looked up, flushed. “No, sir. I’ll be done within the hour. The kender will not be back until late this afternoon, so I have time to finish it.”

“You be sure that you do. I don’t want that damned kender wandering around my shop, ‘borrowing’ my tools and weapons. When you’re done, wait for him outside and give it to him there. Don’t let him in the door! And make certain you get good money for that, too.”

It had been a week since the kender had shown up in the shop. Usually Theros was quick to throw them out, but this time he’d been busy engraving a blade and hadn’t been able to leave his work. Yuri had foolishly allowed the kender inside and, once there, they couldn’t seem to get rid of him. He had wandered around, picking up this, looking at that, chattering all the time about his father-Trapspringer or something was the name.

Finally Theros was able to stop his work long enough to collar the kender, catching the little fellow just as he slipped a pair of steel tongs into one of his pouches. Theros grabbed the kender by the lapels and began to shake, trying to loosen his tongs and whatever else that may have dropped into the pouches and pockets. He turned the kender upside down, shook him by his ankles. All the while, the kender screeched and tried to whack Theros across the legs with his hoopak. A mountain of objects cascaded down onto the floor. Theros’s anger at the small being was replaced by wonder.

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.