Thaumaturge

by Terry Mancour

  Perplexed, the guildsmen pushed: what would Gareth consider a decent gift? Only then did he mention looms and other gear for spinning and weaving.

  For some inspired reason, he added that he would consider recommending establishing a depot at Vanador for the League’s use to his hard-assed superior, the Spellmonger . . . if the League could persuade a millwright, a loomwright, millwright and a brace of wheelwrights to immigrate to Vanador.

  That was a tall order – Gilmora did not like letting their intricate looms to be exported, much less the men who made them. But the Wilderlands League swore they would investigate the matter and return with word. The League caravan departed, but left a man behind to continue to explore opportunities in Vanador until their midsummer caravan returned.

  I have no doubt he learned a lot. Vanador was turning into a highly instructive place.

  “The rapid development of Vanador was a time of great innovation and opportunity, and to the extent that Minalan the Spellmonger was involved, his capacity for recognizing good ideas and offering his endorsement was more potent than the spells he wove. Minalan’s openness to new ways of doing things and willingness to promote successful attempts at everything from urban planning to social custom charged the subjects of Vanador with a creative energy unique to the time and place of its founding. Everyone respected the Spellmonger in Vanador, and craved his endorsement. Magi and tradesmen alike contended for his attention, and he was always willing to give it, should something catch his interest. Never, save perhaps the founding of Perwyn, itself, as a place enjoyed such freedom to innovate without restriction or regulation.”

  From the Scrolls of Lawbrother Bryte the Wiser

  Chapter Nine

  Of Wood and Iron, Forge and Field

  There were two sorts of forests in the Magelaw, due to its history of settlement.

  Most of the reasonably flat central plateau around the Anvil had been cleared during the initial settlement, a hundred years ago. The easy-to-reach hardwoods were ideal fodder for Alshar’s voracious shipwrights, at the time. As the forests were cleared, some of the timbermen stayed to settle and hold, and they left sometimes-large swaths of second-growth forest and meadows between settlements.

  The original timbering had left pockets of the original forest to the west and beyond the plateau, and along the surrounding ridges, largely untouched. As the plateau had only been lightly settled and farmed, with most of the land used for grazing, not agriculture, plenty of parcels had regrown forests in the century since the original clearing. These weren’t nearly as dense as the original woods, especially when the peasants’ pigs helpfully cleared away underbrush in their seasonal pursuit of acorns. The second-growth forests were regularly harvested as the market for timber, both local and regional, demanded it.

  Since the invasion, of course, forestry management had been lax. Most of the foresters responsible were dead, enslaved or had fled, and their abandoned homes had begun to resemble the forests around them.

  The sudden influx of tens of thousands to the plateau had seen many of those second-growth forests fall in the quest for building material and fuel. The freedmen wasted little time constructing basic wattle-and-daub huts to shelter them through the first winter – crude, but vastly superior to the conditions they’d endured in their slave camps.

  Those huts were simple affairs, just big enough for a small family to cram into at night and sleep around a tiny fire. It took the wood from around ten trees to create the posts and rafters for the huts, which had been quickly thatched with gorse and wild grass.

  When the Tudrymen and the Wood Dwarves began arriving at the Anvil with real tools, the deforestation of the plateau began in earnest. It took just over a hundred trees to build a decent-sized family hall and required about a dozen tools to construct. The artisans were in a hurry to get their new homes built, and (thanks to the generous subsidies Astyral and I paid them) they had coin to spend. Hundreds of freedmen earned three pennies a day cutting and hauling wood, sometimes sharing or even renting axes until they could purchase them.

  That was enough coin to buy three measures of barley, or one of wheat, at the nascent Vanador market. Or a locally-fired cooking pot and a handful of salt. Or half a woolen blanket. Or a third of a knife. Or one sixth of a (suddenly extremely valuable) iron axe-head. Three days of hard labor in the forests could feed a man, keep him warm, and give him a chance at a better circumstance.

  Gareth was impressed with how quickly the former slaves began specializing. Some began burning charcoal for the town, while others, recognizing a need, began producing wooden tools like spindles, carding tools and axe handles. Some began mining for clay, limestone or lead, which could be found in scattered pockets in the hills.

  A few former smiths among them prospected for traces of iron ore (abundant, in this part of the Wilderlands) and constructed crude bloomeries in the forests. With a little assistance, these enterprising industrialists were able to produce a little crude wrought iron that had a ready market in Vanador. The most enterprising cast basic block anvils and crude hammers and began forging nails, which were also in high demand.

  I was surprised how few of these men had any formal training in smithcraft, but yet clearly knew their way around a forge. In the Riverlands, a blacksmith is a highly-trained professional requiring sometimes six or seven years of steady apprenticeship before he was granted his journeyman parchment. There were those who had taken this training among the Tudrymen and kept apprentices of their own.

  But most of the smiths in the Magelaw were far less formally introduced to the trade. In a land of wood and iron, it was natural that a man who’d learned the secret of smelting would take up the craft at need.

  I discovered the credentialed journeymen of Tudry looked down on these Forest Smiths . . . even as they used them as steady suppliers or crude wrought iron, charcoal, and other supplies essential for their trade. It was a professional division similar to that between spellmongers and resident adepts compared to hedgemagi and footwizards. Usually, if a credentialed smith took exception to a Forest Smith as competition, he’d file a suit with the local manorial court or baron demanding legal redress enforcing his rights. A fine was paid. A warning was issued. And the Forest Smith would quietly go back to work.

  But not in Vanador. We needed that flow of raw materials to keep the city construction projects going. And the Hundreds needed a manor smith who could shoe a horse or sharpen an axe. There was plenty of work to go around. Of the seven credentialed smiths who had brought their forges to Vanador from Tudry and set up shop in the Iron Quarter, only a few were petty enough to complain to Gareth about the informal smiths and ask him to enforce their customary rights. Most were too busy building their homes and shops and making money hand over fist.

  But there are always those who see any competition as a threat, no matter how much money they’re making. In Vanador the need was so great that Gareth wisely ignored their complaints and failed to enforce their traditional privileges. Vanador needed iron and wood to fuel its construction, and as much as the Wizard Mercantile was adding to the supply, demand was always greater.

  Things were complicated further by the Wood Dwarves, who had smiths and ironworkers of their own – often superior in craftsmanship than the Tudrymen. The Malkas Alon smiths ignored the protests of human smiths; they didn’t resort to rules in such matters. Instead, they would challenge them to compare their crafts – a contest the humans invariably lost.

  The Malkas Alon had no issue employing the Forest Smiths as labor and suppliers, and saw them no better or worse than the credentialed smiths. I guess we humans all look alike, to them. Of course, the Dradrien didn’t consider any of them legitimate smiths. More like children making mud pies. That didn’t help the Tudrymen’s case.

  The issue finally rose to my attention when the offended blacksmith, Master Tamisal, officially petitioned me as Count to enforce the traditional rights and privileges the Tudrymen enjoyed, one day as I was headed tow
ard Gareth’s office.

  “But you aren’t in Tudry, anymore,” I pointed out to the man as we walked.

  “My commission covers the entire Wilderlands, my lord,” he insisted, proudly, in a Gilmoran drawl. “And I represent the interests of all properly-trained blacksmiths. While we have yet to hold a convocation to organize in our new surroundings,” he admitted, trying to sound reasonable, “I have taken the liberty of proposing a new charter, to ensure that—”

  I stopped him – and the scroll of parchment he produced. “Master Tamisal, while I appreciate your thoughtful insights into the problem, please understand that Vanador is at a unique point in its development. There may come a time when we need such things as formal guilds, but now is not that time. Besides,” I continued, my eyes narrowing, “what role do you provide for the masters of your trade who hail from the Wood Dwarves?”

  The man sputtered. “Why, it would be improper to allow foreign workers to impinge on the traditional—”

  “Foreign workers?” I asked, surprised. “How can they be foreign workers? They were born less than fifty leagues from here. Were you?” I asked, bluntly.

  “My lord,” the Gilmoran smith said, frowning. “Those . . . creatures are doing work that human smiths could!” he insisted. “That takes coin from my purse! As Count, it is your duty to see to the customary rights of your subjects.”

  “Do you so lack for work that you must prohibit others from taking it?” I countered.

  “Nay, my lord, my smithy has been busy day and night,” he conceded. “I have more than six months of commissions ahead of me.”

  “Then I suggest you return to attend to your busy forge and allow me to guide the construction of Vanador as I see fit,” I concluded. “When your forge lies idle, come speak with me about your lack of business.” I couldn’t foresee that in his lifetime.

  I didn’t make a friend in Tamisal. But as a Count, he’s lucky I didn’t consider him an enemy. Most of the artisans from Tudry were grateful for the opportunities Vanador provided, under the protection of magelords. They knew where the coin that flowed so freely in the markets originated. When word got out that I was generally against anything that impeded the progress of construction, it headed off petitions from the carpenters, sawyers, coopers and other artisans who were considering demanding their old privileges from the Count.

  But the confrontation did draw my attention toward iron, as spring rains washed over the plateau. I needed iron in great whopping quantities. I needed it for swords and axes, shield bosses and helmets, spearpoints and horseshoes and a thousand other things an army needs. That’s a lot of iron, more than we could comfortably import from Vorone or even through the Arcane Mercantile. I hated to pay for iron when I knew that the hills around us had ore that was in high demand for its purity. The Forest Smiths were harvesting the easy-to-reach pockets in shallow mines or exposed outcroppings, but I needed more, far more, than their tiny bloomeries could produce.

  Thankfully, I had four Iron Folk in town, and they knew more about the foundry and the forge than every human smith in town, combined. The next day I made a point of seeking out Master Cormoran in his shop, along with Master Suhi, the Dradrien smith, and sought their counsel on the iron situation.

  Master Cormoran began the lecture.

  “Before the invasion, if a local yeoman or manor lord wanted to process some of the rich ore of the Wilderlands, he drafted a gang of peasants and built a furnace out of clay, encasing a column of ore and limestone chunks inside with a hole in the top. He then spent two or three days feeding the fires of the thing, usually with charcoal, pushing the interior temperature up enough to melt the iron and burn away some of the impurities.

  “When it cooled, he broke the clay of the furnace apart and pried up his prize from the hole he’d prepared for the drippings. For his massive effort, he often only got two or three ingots of rough wrought iron for his trouble. Then that had to be beaten on an anvil with a hammer until the rest of the impurities were gone, just to make it workable.”

  Considering the amount of labor that it took to produce even a pound of workable wrought iron, I thought, there was no wonder at the value of the stuff.

  The Dradrien, on the other hand, wanted a significantly higher amount than the local bloomeries were producing. And a far better quality, if they were expected to produce decent weapons. Master Suhi had far more exacting standards than human ironworkers.

  “Good ore is here,” the Iron Folk smith conceded, in heavily accented Narasi. “Very good. I should be able to fart on it and turn it to steel,” he bragged, grinning. “But not this way,” he said, sneering at an example of a local ingot on his workbench. “I need much, much more. We must build foundry,” he insisted. “Great furnace. Make much steel.”

  “Iron,” I corrected.

  “Steel,” Master Cormoran countered. “Master Suhi wants to build a series of furnaces, each increasing in size and capacity, and do some experimentation. Then he has plans to construct one great furnace that he assures me, with a little magical help, will transform all the iron we make into steel at one go.”

  “Really? That’s some impressive magic,” I said, doubtfully.

  “Not magic,” sneered Suhi. “Metallurgy. Much more powerful. Blow all impurities out of molten iron with air, turns to steel. Could do without magic,” he bragged, blowing heavily through his big lips, inflating his bearded cheeks comically. “This is just easier.”

  “Do we have that much iron?” I asked, curious. “I know Pentandra sold most of the Vorone stockpile already . . .”

  “We have a few tons of mid-grade ingots out of Iron Hill and about three hundred tons of decent ore from the local mines, but none of them are particularly deep. Two of Suhi’s nephews, Jarn and Agarth, are scouting for the best mine site, now. His other nephew is traveling back to his mansions to recruit a few miners,” he added, casually.

  “Miners? The Rudak Alon?”

  “Aye, good miners,” Suhi agreed, enthusiastically. “Owe me money. Six or seven. Maybe a few more Dradrien,” he said, nonchalantly. “Liven this place up.”

  “But you can give me steel? And make magical weapons?”

  “All the steel you want. Weapons of great power,” he agreed, arrogantly. “You just stay out of way and give what I need. You people use these sharp sticks to fight,” the Dradrien smith said, thoughtfully, as he looked over at a collection of sword blanks on the table between us. “Always strange to us. Alka Alon use bows and spears. Karshak and Dradrien use axes and hammers. Gurvani use clubs. But you? Long knives? Knives are for cutting meat and vegetables, not fighting!”

  “We manage pretty well,” I mumbled.

  “Fine, you want long knives, I make you long knives. You have long arms. I study how you fight. It works,” he conceded. “You’re versatile. But your swords? All wrong,” he said, crossly.

  I didn’t challenge him or correct him. I’d learned that much, when dealing with the Karshak. I asked him how they could be better.

  “I’ll fix it, no problem,” he dismissed. “It will be interesting. Cormoran is decent smith, for humani. I can teach him. But you, you are a wizard,” he said, his eyes flashing from deep within his face. “You want magic blades.”

  “Like this one,” I agreed, tapping Twilight’s length with my pipestem.

  “Not crappy, like this one,” he sneered. “You face undead, now, not just gurvani. Sharp and strong is inadequate. But I need some things,” he said, a little guiltily. “Steel, for one. Good steel, not this . . . not this. First, we make good steel. Then I alloy to make special steel. Magical steel. Drinks spells like water. With right tools, we make steel like no one has seen before. I make you steel that cuts down undead like grain!” he promised.

  “He’s a little difficult to work with,” Cormoran confided to me, later, “but he really does know what he’s doing. He’s just been puttering around here, waiting for the snow to melt so he can start building his foundry. Carmella assigned us a pe
rfect spot, just a few miles north of the city at the base of those hills,” he said, pointing the direction out. “A place called Yltedene. If he does what he says he will, we’re going to have plenty of steel,” he promised. “More steel than we have smiths to work.”

  I could not fault Cormoran’s ambitions. He’d crossed the continent to have access to Wilderlands iron ore, and he was now learning more about its manufacture than he’d ever dreamed.

  I attended the first great casting of his first foundry out at Yltedene, a few weeks later. It was successful, in that it produced thick iron ingots of superb quality . . . which the dwarf rejected out of hand for any serious use. But it apparently told him what he needed to know. Master Suhi sent his nephew with the unusual nose into the hills to find better supply, and detailed Cormoran to begin searching for samples of limestone and a specific type of coal from the various deposits around the plateau that suited his exacting craft. Meanwhile, he designed a new foundry next to the old one, twice the size and far more advanced in construction.

  Yet the first firing of pig iron he’d so casually rejected was eager accepted by the human smiths on Iron Street. Some were re-cast into simple anvils, upon which the rest was hastily fashioned into the thousands of tools and supplies we needed.

  A few weeks after that, the second foundry at Yltedene was prepared. It was much bigger than the first. Cart after cart of local ore was transported to the site, added to thousands of pounds of limestone chunks from the quarry. When they were done, the mound was as high as it was wide. The entire thing was covered with a foot of clay, and the spaces within were filled with fuel. Mostly wood, but the Dradrien insisted on mixing it with coal. That was a novelty, to the human smiths. Though they knew it could burn, if the temperature was high enough, they disdained it for fuel when the Wilderlands abounded in forests.