The Arkanist

The Arcane

The Arcane

The forge was red hot. The coals were like deep roasting rubies, and the stones that guarded the forge were black with smote and nearly cloaked completely in snow. The small area was tucked away beside the training grounds close the mountainside. Will had led her there. Alistairr gave her spiteful glare as she passed through. She expected as much, but kept her mouth closed. What does he have against me?

The snow fell heavy today from the grey morning sky, mixed with less ash. The winds were fierce and vicious as a wild beast. They were everyday. Aera had gotten used to it by now, the cold, the snows, the ash, the grey, the black, the whole lot of it. She let the thoughts pass, as she neared the forgery. The mountain up close was a stark black wall, craggy and split, draped in beaming white robes of snow. The peaks vanished off into the grey as Aera peered upwards.

Quyrun Hardhands, the blacksmith for the rangers, was a large meaty man. His belly was large and his face was round and red as a beat. He wore a long black beard and a mob of black hair under a long brown cowl. A small dirk hung at his waist from his corded leather belt and an axe hung at his other side, newly forged of hard iron. The man was garbed in a loose brown cloak with an olive tunic underneath. The black cloak of the rangers was thrown over it all. He wore no gloves. A heavy coat of fur lined his shoulders and neck, black as the night sky and his breeches were stained black from their original leathery brown. He was beating a hammer into the iron blade of a sword over the forge when Aera arrived.

The smithy was built under the cover of a woolen canopy, held and tied to wooden beams that drove into the mountainside. In the heart, was the forge, large and round, crafted of stacked granite, breathing out dark black smoke. Gathered around it was a grindstone, which was being used by a young lad the same age as Aera, who was holding the blade of steel over the turning wheel of stone, sparks dancing about as the stone screeched against steel.

A large tanning rack was surrounded by two rangers as they worked on strips of leather and armor. Another ranger was repairing a set of iron breastplates and shoulder-guards on the long iron workbench opposite the tanning rack. The loud beats echoed in Aera’s ears as Quyrun rose from his hunch, and threw his hammer on the cold snowy ground, the weapon he was working on smoldering in the forge. He ordered another of his apprentices to stoke the fire as he approached Aera, whipping the icy sweat off his forehead.

“You’re the new lad Alistairr hates,” said Hardhands. “I can’t blame you, I hate him too.” He held out his hand and Aera shook it. The blacksmith had earned his name, for his massive hands were hard as stone, and his grip was firmer than an iron clamp. Aera’s diminutive hand was engulfed within his in a bone-crushing embrace. “You’re name, lad.” It was a request more than a question.

“Aeron,” Aera said. “And I’d like to guess your Hardhands.”

“Aye,” said Quyrun. “Bought and paid for that one.” He looked down at his hands. “Ever worked a forge before, lad? Ever shaped iron, ever worked metal?”

Aera shook her head.

“Right,” said Hardhands, moving back over to the stoked forge, and picked up his hammer. “You might be good with a blade lad, but its us who makes them. Come, I’ll show you right how to manipulate iron and steel into a fearsome blade sharp enough to slice through stone.”

Aera peered over the man’s burly shoulder as he picked the blade from the unfinished hilt and took it from the forge, laying it onto an anvil, and heaved the hammer over his shoulder. The metal clashed in a sudden song of iron while timid orange flames snuck up from the metal. He turned the blade over and beat his hammer into the other side, sparks burning. The smith continued the cycle, until he had Aera turning over the blade. She felt the sword vibrate fiercely in her grasp as he hit it. Soon, the iron was growing cold as the winds picked up and lashed their faces and flapped the wool canopy about. Quyrun returned the blade to the forge to heat up again and his other apprentice began to stoke the fire again.