“Daughter, please,” Tybalt answered softly. “Sometimes we must swallow our pride and do what is best. We are honest and loyal folk, remember that.”
Morgen was embarrassed and annoyed but listened to her father. With a grimace, she lifted her gaze to Emich’s and muttered, “I will listen to your wishes from this point forward.”
He grumbled loud enough for her to hear. “How am I to trust that? You are more curious than a moth is of a flame. It is best you remember, fire burns.”
“It might help to remember that not everyone is out for blood, son.” Tybalt directed his comment to their host. It was said in earnest, without a hint of judgment or bitterness.
Morgen looked to Emich, waiting for him to yell at her father. But surprisingly, he didn’t. Emich lowered his gaze and clenched his jaw.
Her father grinned at both of them and went back to the gutted fish on the worktable. “Very good. Now let us have a meal together and celebrate this day.”
Emich went to bed mulling over the one thing that was never far from his mind. Morgen. She was maddening and enthralling all at once. There was so much about her that he found aggravating, yet he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
She had gone into his room and cleaned it when he’d asked for privacy. How could he trust a woman like that? Somehow his father had found someone he could trust—Emich’s mother—and they had remained by each other’s side until the day they died.
The next morning Emich was unsurprised when Morgen walked into the shadow of the workshop with a bowl of steaming cereal in hand. She didn’t make eye contact, nor did she say a word. She set the food down, stepped beside him at the bellows and nudged him out of the way.
Wordlessly, he moved aside, letting her take over. He went to his breakfast and began eating. Emich may not have had much experience with people, women especially, but he got the impression she was unhappy with him. There was nothing to do to change that. Although it made for peaceful work, having assistance without all of the talking.
She was busy lifting and lowering the bellows when he heard someone call out nearby. He lifted his head to squint outside into the daylight, expecting to see Tybalt. Instead he caught the unwelcome silhouette of a man on a horse, which was very irregular.
Emich picked up his hammer and hurried into the field to meet the stranger. His eyes made out only shapes and spots. They hadn’t adjusted to the bright midday glow.
“Greetings!” the man called out with the air of superiority.
Emich didn’t offer friendly salutations in return. “Are you lost? The village is down the mountain that way.”
His eyes began to make out the brightly dressed man. His ornately embroidered doublet would have cost a servant many months’ wages. Emich had seen the fellow before and grit his teeth when he recognized the man from the tavern.
“I never forget a face. I believe we met informally at the Swan? The name is Gelfrat Tresler.”
The self-proclaimed dragon slayer grinned down at him.
Emich sighed. “You are not welcome here—return to the village where you may find an audience for your stories.”
Gelfrat sniffed and rested his hand on his knee. “I do not come to tell stories, but to ask for yours. I did not realize you lived so close to Drachenberg—you must have seen the beasts for yourself?”
“Listen to me closely.” Emich grit his teeth, and the stranger leaned in with a hopeful expression. “It is best you return to Vienna. There will be no trouble so long as no one goes out of their way seeking it.”
The man flinched and waved his hand dismissively. “The villagers said the same thing, but they will change their opinion once the devils take what is not theirs as they always do.”
“There are no missing sheep, maidens or silver from these parts. It will remain that way so long as the dragon is left alone. Best keep your pretty hair and eyebrows and walk away with your health.”
Gelfrat’s eyebrow lifted. “So, you have seen it?”
Emich was thrown off guard. No one had come looking to slay such a beast since he was a child. Anyone that trespassed onto the mountain departed with scorched breeches and a tale to keep others away, which was just as his father intended.
He cleared his throat. “It has been some time since I have seen any dragons. The last time I saw one fly overhead, it was pointed west and away from here.”
He didn’t want this stranger putting his nose where it didn’t belong. As long as everyone thought dragons inhabited Drachenberg, his mine would be left alone. In this situation, he thought it best to draw Gelfrat away with falsehoods.
The pompous man tilted his head to the side, seeming to consider what he’d been told, but then his eyes focused on something behind Emich. Gelfrat let out a low whistle.
Emich turned around to see Morgen walking across the meadow to where he stood.
“Hello, schatzi. We meet again,” Gelfrat murmured and touched his chin to his chest with a nod.
Emich glowered at the man. She was not his to call “treasure.”
Morgen glanced at Emich’s hardened expression before responding to the man. “I remember you from the tavern. You offered to pay for my lodging.”
“That is right,” Gelfrat said and winked at Emich. “Generosity is never forgotten by a lady.”
“Are you lost?” Morgen asked.
“I am just where I want to be.” Gelfrat smiled back at her. “It is my quest to rid the world of dragons, which is why you find me here on this valiant adventure.”
Morgen smirked back at him. The sight of it turned Emich’s stomach, and he looked away.
Her sugary voice alarmed Emich when she said, “You must be a smart man.”
Gelfrat didn’t know her like Emich did. If he had, he would have continued cautiously, but the proud man smiled again and answered, “A savant, some say.”
Emich snuck a quick glance at her and couldn’t help but grin. The frown that etched her brow warned of the storm coming. “Then I do not understand why you think yourself more knowledgeable than those who have warned you from this place. If the dragons do not scorch your hide, then I will if the dragons are stirred from your foolery.”
Gelfrat puffed up his chest. “You are too pretty to speak of such things.”
“I could say the same about you,” she retorted.
“You best get on your way,” Emich said, stepping forward. He wanted to end their discourse before it deteriorated further. “You are unwelcome here.”
Gelfrat turned his steed around and lifted his nose to the air. “Hospitality and civility is lost on country folk, I see.”
Without another word, he set off, casting a sour glare over his shoulder. Emich heard Morgen’s voice murmur from behind, “He is fond of himself, is he not? He is clearly unwed, for a wife might set him straight.”
“No woman could change a man like that,” Emich responded, watching Gelfrat ride across the meadow along the lake toward the cover of trees. “You can see the hunger for stature and wealth in his eyes. Nothing can put that flame out but humiliation or death.”
Morgen sighed. “Or a good wallop to the head.”
Emich pulled his gaze away from the departing dragon slayer to blink at Morgen. He didn’t doubt she might give such a wallop to any man who crossed her.
Her eyes widened and she exclaimed, “The charcoal!”
She turned around, lifted her skirts and hurried back to the workshop. Emich glanced toward the end of the meadow and the bright fabric, which was being enveloped by the shadow of the trees. He waited until he was sure the dragon-slayer had gone before following Morgen to the forge.
He hoped he wouldn’t see Gelfrat again, but worried he would have to keep a close watch on the mountainside. His mind was busy while he returned to work. He stared into the embers, wondering what his father might have done if he were still alive.
“Is it time?”
He looked up at Morgen, who was leaning into the bellows with effort. Her brow glis
tened with sweat as she frowned at the steel in the forge. It glowed bright, beginning to turn a pale orange. Sparks spit when he hurried to pull it out.
Emich set the hot metal on his anvil and glanced up at her. “How did you know?”
“You said you knew based on the color. I have been paying attention.”
He might have found it amusing when she admitted she wanted to learn the craft, but she’d been proving she was capable. He still didn’t know how she’d unloaded the barrel of ale from the back of the cart on her own without breaking it or her back, and he could see the strain in her face and arms after working the bellows for lengths at a time. She was stubborn. That was for sure.
If she weren’t so close to departing, he might have considered showing her more, teaching her. There wasn’t much point to it since Tybalt and Morgen were so close to leaving. Days ago, the thought of being alone would have calmed him and eased his anxieties. But for some reason, it did the opposite now.
He liked seeing the pattern of the stone floor, smelling food cooking in the pot when he walked into the house and knowing someone would be there, sitting at the table with him at mealtime. It was a guilty pleasure, enjoying the company of strangers when he’d avoided contact with the outside world for his entire life.
All of his thoughts and worries dissolved away as he pounded his hammer along the length of the forged blade. It was taking the shape he’d wanted and was nearing the grinding phase. But first it must be hardened.
When he was pleased with its form, he gripped it with his tongs and walked over to a barrel of water. He lowered it in, and steam hissed into a large plume. Morgen craned her neck to get a better look.
She met his eyes. “To cool it down?”
“Ja.” He nodded. “But more than that. When you cool it quick like this, it hardens the steel.”
“So it will not break when struck?”
The noise radiating from the bubbling water quieted, yet he held the blade under longer. “If I did my job, it will remain strong.”
Morgen nodded while her gaze lingered on the barrel.
“The moment of truth,” he muttered and drew the blade from the water. He walked to the doorway so the sunlight would reveal any cracks or warping. Emich’s eyes narrowed as he studied it, then he breathed out in relief. “It looks good.”
Morgen joined him in the threshold, and he lifted the forged steel so she could take a look. Her lips parted and lifted into a grin. He nearly dropped the sword, but thankfully his leather gloves were able to grab it tight before he did.
She sighed and brushed the stray hairs from her eyes. “Unless you need me here, I should get back to clean the rafters. I keep imagining spiders dropping on my head while we sit and eat.”
Emich nodded wordlessly. He wanted to find something for her to do in the workshop, but didn’t speak up fast enough. So instead he watched her walk across the lawn to the home and wondered how long he should wait before joining her again.
11
Morgen’s arms were exhausted. She could barely lift them over her head as she swept the cobwebs from the rafters. She wished she’d come up with some other task that hadn’t involved moving her tired muscles.
Tybalt was up and pacing around the place. “My leg feels much better today. It healed as I thought it would, but now I find myself wondering how I am to mine emeralds without a pick and hammer. But I suppose opportunity will come as it always does.”
Morgen had been wondering that too but hadn’t wanted to upset her father. He was the one who found the silver lining to everything. She hoped he was right because if they left the safety of Emich’s home without a thing, they would soon find themselves in the same dire situation Emich had saved them from.
She let out a long breath and lowered the broom from the ceiling. At least now she wouldn’t worry about spiders dropping on her head. Her arms didn’t want to work anymore, and she didn’t know how she’d cook dinner.
Just then Emich walked in through the door. He looked at Tybalt as the older man greeted him by throwing his hands in the air with a chuckle. “I am on my feet. Looks like you will be rid of us once and for all.”
Emich frowned and glanced at Morgen, who went to the hearth to light a small fire. She thought he seemed disappointed, but she pushed the thought aside as quickly as she’d had it, telling herself he was likely unhappy they hadn’t left sooner.
“When do you think that might be?” Emich asked.
Tybalt touched his knee and lifted his foot from the floor. “I think one more night’s rest will set me right. We can go as soon as tomorrow.”
“Do you think that wise?”
Morgen stacked some kindling on the stone hearth and looked at Emich in surprise. Could it be that he wanted them to stay?
Her father patted Emich’s shoulder. “We appreciate your kindness, young man, but I must go to find my fortune. More so now that I have nothing to my name.”
Emich’s brow furrowed again. “Where are you off to that your fortune is so certain?”
Her father cast a furtive glance her way before saying under his breath, “I heard word of a valley to the south that is revealed during the spring melt where you may find precious emeralds. The snow is gone but for the highest peaks, which means I must hurry, though there is the small issue of finding a means to chip away at the earth. I have a feeling opportunity is just ’round the corner.”
“If it is tools you need, I can help you there.” Emich walked out of the kitchen doorway, leaving Tybalt scratching his head.
It wasn’t long before he reentered the hall with a pick and hammer in hand. He held them out to Tybalt, who breathed out and said, “Your kindness knows no bounds. I have no way to repay you.”
Emich forced them into her father’s hands. “If you are truly so near your fortune, then I am sure to see you again. I have a spare horse you may take as well if it gets you there faster.”
Morgen struck her flint and steel together and blew at the sparks that touched the firewood, offering it the air it needed to take light. She listened to the men’s conversation, feeling uncertain about its direction. She didn’t like the thought of owing anyone, but she knew no other way around it.
“You are right.” Tybalt held up the pick. “I am a man of honor. I will find a way to repay your generosity.”
He smiled over at Morgen, who couldn’t grin in return. His expression changed and grew worried.
She hoped to distract them from their plans and called over to Emich, “Fetch the pan and sausages for me.”
Emich blinked and walked to the worktable to collect the food and pan and brought it to her.
She took it from him and set it in the hearth. “Thank you,” she mumbled.
“It is fate we met you, Emich,” Tybalt said from across the room, still wearing his concerned frown. “I wonder if my daughter has been of use to you in your workshop?”
An uncomfortable moment passed as Emich glanced at her and returned his gaze to Tybalt. “She has surprised me with her ability.”
“I have dragged my daughter over this land while I search for valuable ore and gems. After the circumstances of our meeting, I fear for her safety out on the trails.” Tybalt sniffed, and his expression softened when he looked at Morgen. “I have not been the best father to her, although she would deny it. I have encouraged her dreams of smithing when some would say I gave her false hope. I would do anything if you would consider keeping her on while I take the summer mining emeralds.”
“Father, nein.” Morgen had sensed something was amiss. She shook her head vehemently. “I would never leave you.”
Emich collected two cups, filled them with ale and held them out to Morgen and her father. Tybalt gestured to the table, where he already had a mug. Morgen raised her hand to accept the drink, and his fingers brushed against hers as he passed it to her. She lowered her eyes, surprised by his thoughtfulness.
Emich lifted the remaining cup to his own lips, nearly emptying it. When he w
as done, he mumbled, “I would not mind some help in the workshop so long as my rules are followed.”
She felt Emich’s eyes on her as she hurried to her father and touched his chest. “This need not be discussed. Who would look after you?”
Tybalt shook his head and sighed. “I am not senile yet, liebling. I am a grown man and able to look after myself.”
The sound of the sausages sizzling in the pan drew her attention, but Emich beat her to the hearth. He turned them with a poker, saving them from getting burned.
“It sounds as if she has made up her mind, and I would not want to get walloped trying to persuade her otherwise,” Emich said over his shoulder.
She couldn’t quite tell if he was teasing her; it seemed so out of character for him. Tybalt appeared to try contain himself, but his snickers quickly made their way to her ears. She swatted his shoulder, and a loud guffaw escaped his lips. “The fellow knows you well.”
Morgen shot her father a warning glare before looking at Emich, who was poking the sausages in the pan. She could swear a smile played at his lips, though she had thought him incapable of such a pleasant expression.
“Do not think it has never crossed my mind.” She stepped closer to him with a raised hand, unable to contain her own laughter. “Do not tempt me.”
Emich set the poker down at the hearth and edged away from her with his hands up.
“He looks afraid, daughter,” Tybalt said between smiles.
Morgen picked up the abandoned poker and nodded. “As he should be.”
Emich sat on the bench beside the dining table. His grin slid away, and he grew serious. “I say you should remain one more day just to make sure you are recovered.”
“Very well,” Tybalt answered with a sigh. “I can afford one more day, but only just.”
That night when Morgen and her father retired to their sleeping quarters, she scolded him for suggesting leaving her behind. “I cannot believe you would think of it.”
Tybalt unbuttoned his doublet and slipped it off. He hung it over his arm and looked at her with a softened expression. “How many times have I spoken to you about opportunity?”
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