Don Perrin - Theros Ironfield

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.