Four Horsemen: Chapter 7 Part 2 of 2

Valter lowered his metal book, turning his crossed feet propped on the anvil to the side, studying the ingots on the top of the workbench and then his tools.

He put the book away at the sound of approaching footsteps and stood.

The bald scarred man looped his fingers behind his apron.

“What’s your name?”

“Valter.”

The bald man rubbed his nose and pointed over to the side where several men and women were working on those magical belts, sparks flying down as they sharpened weapons.

“My sharpeners are saying that you’re one of the better smiths they’ve run into and you produce faster than two others.” He looped his thumb behind his apron. “I’ll give you ten percent more per piece you make.”

“Can I get my pay in materials?”

The man raised an eyebrow.

“Steel and coke, so I can work on my own projects.”

“You still have the energy to work more? I thought you’d be aching.”

Valter shrugged.

“Adventurers I guess.” The bald man shrugged. “Yeah we can do that. Anything you make and don’t use we’ll sell for you at a twenty percent fee.”

“I’ll think about it,” Mya would never let him hear the end of it if he traded away his items without her haggling. “Can I use some of the forge in the back?” Valter pointed to the rear of the open forge.

“Sure,” He shrugged. “The buyers will pay more if they can see you work though.”

Valter had been wondering about some of the theatrics some of the smiths were using, putting in powders that would spark with every blow.

“Not a problem with me,” Valter said.

The man shrugged again, ever expressive and pointed at one of the rooms.

“Use that one anytime you want. I’ll sent a runner over with the material worth of what you’ve earned.”

“Thanks,” Valter nodded.

The bald man whistled, heading to the front of the store, a runner hurrying to him and then glancing over to Valter. He rushed off again.

Valter moved to the forges in the rear, hidden from the store and the others, it gave him the privacy and solitude he wanted.

The more he worked in the forge, it was clear the information in his books was not common knowledge. He’d caught others looking at his hammers and tools as well. Worrying about prying eyes distracted him.

Valter clicked his tongue at the state of the room, he cleaned up the room a boy knocking on the door with his foot holding a crate.

“Put it down over there,” Valter tilted his chin at the workbench.

The boy dropped it off, rubbing his arms.

“Are you a travelling smith?” The boy asked.

“Something like that.”

“There are people saying that you’re a journeyman level smith.”

“Because I travel?”

“No, like the one between Master and Apprentice.”

“What I can’t be higher than a master?” Valter chuckled.

“A grand master?” The boy said in almost breathlessness. “I hear that they are people that can craft weapons that even the gods would fight over!”

“joking with you boy and I’m barely an apprentice.”

“A novice?” The boy screwed up his features. “That can’t be right, mister Alan is a Journeyman and I was talking to the sharpeners and some of them were saying that your as good as him, faster.”

“I know a few tricks, but I’m not that strong,” Valter smiled and stood up. There were ranks with smithing, novice, apprentice, journeyman, master and grandmaster. He had improved with every spear head he made, but there was a long way to go in learning other things.

“Call me if you need anything,” the boy headed out.

Valter held back his words and nodded. It wasn’t the place to start talking to others, who knew when he might let a detail out he didn’t mean to.

He closed the door and checked inside the crate.

“Best get to work instead of just staring at them.” His fingers ran over the ingots. “Now what should I make? Doesn’t need to be anything special, just something to test my abilities and knowledge.”

There were dozens of ideas and drawings in his book that his heart wished to race after.

“Nails. I’ll start with nails.”

He drew a knife from his tools, feeling something unlock in his body he let power flow from his chest, through his arm and hand, into the blade, its runes lit as if filled with magma as the edge of his blade grew white.

He had kept most of his tools hidden away and only dared to use the runes when no one was looking. While his book told him what they did, there weren’t any other tools like them in the workshop.

He drew it along an iron ingot, slicing off a section as if it was butter. Just as the book said. He cut the ingot down into smaller sections, drawing the power from the blade back through his hand and into his chest.

“Into the coals with you.” He grabbed a piece of metal stock with tongs, moving the coals around the forge with a poker, bringing them to the edge of the burning coals but not covering it.

“Now a shallow angle, careful to not push the cold coals into the hot ones.” He talked and worked at the same time.

He worked the bellows, and put more stock into the coals, creating a circle. He pulled out the first piece after he laid the last in, and grabbed his short hammer.

Its runes flared to life and up the cold pitted metal of the head. He tapped the hammer on the anvil and then on the red hot metal.

“Use the lines, extrude out the metal into a point.” His hammer blows sent him into a trance, hitting the metal then the anvil and back again. The hammer maintained the heat of the metal as he stretched it out, and placed it on a sharpened iron block. He turned the stock, cutting the nail off. He dropped the unused stock, grabbed the half formed nail with the tongs and securing it in a vice, beating the top of the nail from four directions. He smacked the anvil open and pushed the nail into a quenching bucket.

He turned, grabbing the next nail.

“I’ll need to work fast or else the stock will heat up too much.” He reduced the power flowing out to the hammer, grinning. The challenge igniting a fire in his bones as he fell into an old rhythm the challenge stoking his speed.

The sound of hammer blows and quenching rang out from the room, unused stock falling on the stone.

He pushed another nail off of the vice and reached for another piece of stock, to find he’d used it all. He took a breath, blinking and pulling out water, drinking to salve his parched throat.

He could still feel the vibrations of the hammer in his hand, the way he’d altered his blows even slightly instinctively knowing how the metal would react to him.

“Well onto the next thing.” He picked up the stock on the ground, throwing it into a cruicible, stoking the forge and moving the coals around, to bring it back up to the temperatures he wanted.

He grabbed the steel ingot next, studying it and putting it into the coals. His power ran through his tools as he sunk into an almost meditative state, releasing the control he had, and letting actions and reactions take over. Letting it lead the path.

Axe heads, swords, bracers, fine artistic pieces, then pieces for function. He read through his metal book. The information flowing through him and into his works.

He took his knife, used its white hot edge to carve runes into the weapons. Forming a channel for the user’s power.

Wish I didn’t have to reference the book for the runes.

Runes filled a whole chapter on their own, he marked down rune passages to create certain effects but the memories of them weren’t there.

“Going to need some wood stock.” He looked over the different weapons and went back to carving as time slipped by unnoticed.