The Smith and the Knight

Smith's Work

The clang of steel against steel rang out in the smithy. A hammer dully rang as it shaped the red hot metal in the master smith's hands. His visage carried the hearty weight of a beard which extended to his chest, the hair singed in some places from the forge. He worked diligently, occasionally draining a nearby waterskin. The strength of his blows were only matched by his furrowed brow, caked with soot and sweat.

He took a pair of tongs and lifted the steel for inspection.

"Ana, you are needed." The smith called over the raging forge. A girl appeared, no older than ten, holding a toolbox and another waterskin. "We have work to do."

"I want to play with the other kids outside, papa." She protested and placed the toolbox near him.

"Another time, we must hurry. The customer will be here soon to pick up their request." The smith laughed heartily. "Perhaps I will treat you to something nice after!"

"You said that last time..." The little girl frowned. She replaced the empty waterskin and turned away. In a few moments she returned with her own hammer—much smaller than her master's—to assist. He nodded to her and placed the glowing steel on the anvil. A massive hand held the steel in place, intense eyes focusing onto her.

"Ready, Ana. Give your swing oomph!" He gave the order and she obeyed. The clanging resumed as she attempted to shape the steel. However, in a few short bursts, she growled and took a few steps back.

"Papa, this is hard!"

"No, no...one more time. This is your work, Ana! We are almost finished." The man smiled toothily. He couldn't guise his happiness any longer, his eyes now shone brilliantly like the ocean.

Ana inhaled and lifted the hammer. She struck now harder than she had before, the ringing of the steel resonating with her spirit. A rush of strength burst from within and the steel agreed with her. In a few short moments, the smith raised his paw. She halted and blinked in surprise.

"Good, good! Do not let the steel take you from here." He quenched the length of metal and reached for a thick leather glove. "I will show you one of the most important pieces, young one. Pay attention!"

The smith growled as he took the length of steel and drew out the tang deftly with his hammer. "You—must—be—careful—or—the--blade--will--not--let--you--do--what--you--must!" With each word, he struck the red hot metal. "Blades do not talk, but they do!

"Papa, I don't get it." She pouted.

"Ah—but you will!" He laughed and quenched the piece quickly. "You will hear the steel speak and you must learn the language."

Ana frowned heavily.

A bell chimed loudly as a man and a small boy entered. The man approached the smith with a hearty grin, his hand extended—the boy cautiously hid behind his companion's leg as they neared the pair covered in soot.

"Ah! My old friend Eisener!" The men shook hands, taking each other's presence in.

"Stolzer, it is good to see you not dead." They laughed bitterly. "And who is this?"

The master smith turned to the younger boy and beckoned to him. He remained frozen in place at the sight of the bulk of the man's paw, his eyes drinking the intensity of Eisener. Stolzer gently pushed him forward and the master smith took the boy's hands in his. An immense pain took the boy as he prodded and gazed him over.

"He is a strong one—too weak for smith's work."

"Aye, but he is my own page. I am a Justicar of the Sanctuarian Templar." Eisener's eyebrows raised in response.