Sticking close to his father’s side, the young dwarf peered with undisguised wonder at the workshop before them. Row after row of sledge hammers, swages, fullers, chisels, punches, drifts, and tongs hung from hundreds of pegs. Work tables, shelves of tools, and stacks of molds were everywhere. Lined up against the far wall were four gigantic anvils.
The boy swallowed nervously. This was nothing like his father’s foundry. Whoever heard of a workshop having more than one anvil, let alone four? His father’s anvil was tiny compared to these. Then again, his father made axe handles. His area of expertise didn’t require that large of an anvil. In fact, it didn’t really require an anvil at all, and that was the reason why they were here.
Intent on inspecting the huge anvils up close, the dwarf child broke away from the group and moved towards the back wall. A heavy callused hand suddenly dropped on his shoulder and spun him about until he was facing the rest of the group. Two black eyes peered suspiciously at him from behind a worn leather helmet.
“Master Maelnar will be teaching us the nuances of working with silver, gold, and other precious metals,” his father quietly told him. “If I can see for myself what techniques he uses when working with silver, and what tools he uses, then I might one day be able to sell something besides axe handles. Do not even think about wandering off. If you cause me to miss the part on smithing silver you won't be able to sit for a month. Do you catch my meaning?”
“But you told me you know his son,” the boy accused. “You and Uncle fought side by side together with Breslin. Does that not mean they owe you a favor?”
His father sighed heavily. “I want no special recognition. This is a skill I will learn on my own.”
“If you say so, father.”
“Roll your eyes at me again and I’ll smack them right out of your head.”
The boy cringed. His defiant expression quickly vanished.
After what felt like hours, the boy watched as the famous keymaker finally reached under one of his tables and plunked down two metal bars; one was gold, the other silver. Maelnar then retrieved several sets of tongs, both large and small, from one of the shelves nearest to him and then unfurled a long strip of dark blue fabric across the table. Lined up in a row of pockets was a set of small hammers with heads of various shapes and sizes. He slowly walked the length of the table and pointed at various hammers, explaining that the plethora of sizes was for shaping the malleable and ductile metals into different contortions.
Disinterested, the boy again decided to inspect the far recesses of the workshop. As he slowly edged away from his father, he once again headed toward the row of anvils when a commotion drew everyone’s attention. Two of the smaller underlings, evidently brothers from the way they were laying into one another, had started brawling. Over and over they rolled around the floor, arms wrapped around the other, as each tried to pin his opponent to the ground.
The boy watched as his father and several adults tried to separate the two brothers. The distraction was all he needed to slip quietly away to admire the workshop’s many features at his own leisure. While everyone focused on separating the two fighters, the child walked around the closest anvil and silently noted its dimensions.
He was aware of the quarrel behind him but he continued to ignore it. The workshop and all its fascinating treasures were what demanded his attention. Someday he hoped to have a workshop as impressive as the one he was now in. As such, he decided to try and mentally tabulate everything he could see. Lukas tried to catalog the various tools on the walls, but there were just too many tongs and hammers. Wouldn’t it be great if someday his own workshop had so many tools that even he didn’t know how many...
Something slammed into him and threw him off balance. It was one of the brawlers, having been shoved across the room by his brother. Off balance, eyes open wide with fright, the young dwarf flailed his arms in an attempt to avoid tipping over backwards. Directly behind him was the red hot furnace and there was nothing to arrest his fall.
Chapter 1 – A Burn or Not a Burn
Lost City Page 3