Chapter Nine - The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep by Kelly D. Tolman

Posted by admin on November 24, 2008

The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep is a fantasy novel describing the adventures of Colter Halfspear as he becomes a man and an initiate of magical powers.

Once the young son of the lord of a small holding required his sword be sharpened. He brashly approached Iven and demanded, “My sword needs work, see to it.”

“Put it with that lot,” Iven grunted. “It will get its turn with the others.”

The noble had not heard of Iven, and had not learned his manners, and replied, “Perhaps you do not understand. I require it immediately.”

“Perhaps, you are deaf, blind and stupid,” said Iven. His tone was matter of fact.

“You are mistaken.”

“No mistake. It is obvious that I gave you instructions, obvious there is a great deal of work to be done, and obvious you cannot reach the conclusion that you will have to wait your turn. If you can’t see the obvious, you must be blind. My wage is the same no matter whose blade gets done first.”

In that moment I discovered that Iven actually knew how to fight, though I saw it seldom enough. That noble drew his dull sword and threatened my master. Iven brushed the sword aside with his hammer with one swift, masterful stroke, and grasped the man in his great arms. Then he lifted him like a child and tossed him head over heels.

On it went, Scratch this and Scratch that until blisters had broken through my calluses and every bone ached to move. Then finally, mercifully we received the order to move out. At least I believed it was mercy that let me stay in a wagon all day. After all, we couldn’t very well build a fire.

Crack! For the hundredth time Iven’s leather thong snapped across my knuckles. There is more to armor and weapons than simply beating metal as I discovered. Even without furnace and fire we had plenty of work. Hardened leather breastplates needed repair or needed fastening together. At home my mother quilted to keep us warm in winter. Now I quilted thick padding, carefully stitching tight seams. Often recruits brought pieces of old armor which needed repair. Tools needed cleaning. And again crack! Iven could spot the tiniest flaw with my work and he disliked shoddy craftsmanship. “Do it right, Scratch. Lives depend on it,” he bellowed again.

When we reached the main camp I hoped for liberation and a reprieve from the constant work. A pair of familiar faces greeted me as we unpacked the wagon with Iven’s tools. Lyekal waited with a sword I had seen hanging over their mantle in Dunston. Behind him Wess leaned against a long spear, watching the swirl of recruits.

“Ho, Colter,” called Lyekal. “I see you haven’t managed to escape the forge. That’s not a job I would return to for all the money in the empire.”

“You best not let Iven hear that,” I replied. I cast a look in my master’s direction, hoping he would not be cross for me pausing to talk to my friends. “I see your father finally let you come.”

“We heard the council said you were of age,” replied Lyekal. “After that there was nothing they could do. Both Wess and I are older than you, and Wess has been on his own since last winter anyway.”

“I though you were going to farm, Wess,” I said.

He looked at me for the first time, and I saw the frown in his eyes. “I couldn’t pay Trakkin’s rent.”

“He’s a hard man,” I agreed.

“First time in four summers the place looked to have a good harvest and he turned us out. My sister went with a merchant traveling west. He paid Trakkin the rent in exchange for her services. I either joined up or became Trakkin’s slave.”

Two markets of marching did nothing to lighten my master’s disposition. “I’ve told you a thousand times, every chink, Scratch! Is that armor you would wear into battle with a thousand angry beasts trying to kill you?”

I had learned by then that his ranting was mostly rhetorical, and largely for his own amusement. In truth he was much softer than he let on, for though he cracked my fingers and let on when I made a mistake, he never did whip me as he warned. When we made camp north of Havensod he gave me a full night of rest and said, “Use the sleep, lad, for tomorrow the real work begins. The lads will begin dying soon!”

True to his word, the real work began in earnest. We joined the main camp where thousands of soldiers waited and trained to battle the Kaarum. Our small force suddenly became a large bustling, noisy clash of shouts and drills. Many of the recruits had never held a weapon before, and of those who knew something of fighting, only a very few had ever seen a Kaarum. For me my drillmaster was the forge and my weapon the bellows. “Hotter!” yelled Iven. “Hotter and higher!”

Though the new furnace was a little more to Iven’s liking, and he now had a half dozen experienced apprentices, I still had no time for rest. I labored along with the others, churning out lengths of wire, or casting bronze blades. We filled canvas bags with rings cut for mail. The grindstone sent a constant shower of sparks. I learned the art of turning a spear shaft on the large machine powered by driven oxen. Iven finished each piece personally. Into each long shirt he beat his particular mark, four brass rings, each inscribed with the names of his sons.

The moment we finished a blade a soldier snatched it. We made spears for the footmen, swords for officers, and lances for cavalry. I quickly decided I could live perfectly happy never seeing another weapon again, and that spear poles would better serve as bean trellises. Swords had no use whatsoever beyond decorating the mantle, and they were ugly enough at that. Iven showed me a secret that few armor smiths understood.

“After the mail is done, we bake thus, in hot coals and peat. Then it gets a bath in vinegar. This will make it harder and yet tougher. It is a trick I learned at home which I’ve not seen another do. With time and tools I could show you how to make such beautiful breastplates of blue and gold as to cause even that pimple Kelsin to blush. I’ve done work for the emperor himself, and all the great lords. You’ll notice that Kelsin’s armor doesn’t fit him quite right. That piece I made for his father, and his pride won’t let me alter it. The weight of it will throw him off in battle. Mark my words. Before they finish spilling blood he’ll wish for my hammer.”

Often the most difficult part of soldiering is the dread of waiting for danger that may come at any moment. The hours pass slowly when there is little to do but drill and watch the horizon for enemies. Iven had little patience for those whose hands remained idle. Most of the soldiers had no motivation to do anything beyond follow directions. “Look at that lazy lot, Scratch. They wouldn’t know a day’s work if it hit ‘em with a hammer.” I’m certain he meant for it to be his hammer, though gratefully there were no more interruptions by uncouth young nobles.

Though Iven never scolded me for talking with Lyekal or Wess so long as my work didn’t slacken, I knew he disapproved of the smith’s son. Both of them practiced hard, but even my untrained eye could tell that they hadn’t the time to achieve the skill of a true battle. Lyekal never tired of hoping for glory.

Within a five market, virtually every scrap of metal in the region had been accounted for. The work began to slow, and once more I found myself sleeping long enough to do more than drone through another day. I had learned to take pride in my work by then. I gained satisfaction looking at something I made with my own two hands being carried about and used by someone else.

“You’ve done well by me Scratch, now let’s see about that shirt of yours, and bring that pig poker with you too.”

I can still feel the excitement of working on my own armor for the first time. In later winters it became more drudgery than anything, until finally it was simply a routine that happened everyday. My weapons were already excellent and needed no work beyond the time to sharpen and polish them properly.

“Not much work to be done with it,” said the smith with a frown as he held up the mail. “Pretty shoddy work if you ask me. It’s not even been welded together. But it should at least fit you proper. Stand straight and let me get a measure.” He took my measurements and then watched as I started the pattern. Of course I had already been through it a dozen times, so there was really little left to learn. He surveyed the blade on the spear and took a moment to grind a small dent.

“Once you’ve got the pattern together, I’ll show you how to do the welds. Now sharpen it up Scratch, and work on those chinks. I don’t suppose you’ll ever need ‘em, but it’s worth having just the same.”

On to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Ten

Back to The Cleansing of Darnuth Keep Fantasy Novel Chapter Eight

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