“Haven’t you wanted to learn the secret?” Trak replies.
“Aye. Truth is a few years back the alchemist and I tried to discover the secret. We failed.” Baelock frowns but then smiles warmly. “I have good tidings for ye. I’ve spoken to Wreen and he agrees ye passed the examination. Let me be the first to say, “Well done, Master Smith. Ye did it lad! Ye passed!”
The news excites Trak almost as much as learning about the new metal.
“Why did Wormclaw change his mind?”
“We talked a bit, and Wreen saw that he was being unreasonable,” Baelock did not explain further.
The next day the duke’s children fail to show for school. The alchemist enters the chamber and approaches Trak who is busy making the morning tea. “The duke has ordered mandatory military training for all males of fighting age. The militia will begin training this afternoon. School is suspended.” Trak’s heart sinks. His precious school is gone. Moments later, his heart sinks even lower when he realizes that “all males of fighting age” would include him. He is about to be drafted into the duke’s army.
Krage stands quietly eyeing the youth, and says in the fashion of courtly speech, “We are running out of time. You will report to the duke’s training field at the scheduled times. When you are not training, you will assist me, and I will continue your education.” Trak is taken aback by the wizard’s use of the court language that is never used to address commoners. “Tell Baelock that you will be sleeping here in the broch.” Trak’s jaw drops. He can’t conceive of delivering such a message. “Don’t worry,” said the alchemist. “Baelock will understand.” Trak’s confusion compounds. What does Krage mean by “continue my education” and how can Baelock possibly “understand?”
Baelock stands watching Trak as he places his few articles of clothing in a reed basket. He has received Krage’s message silently and doesn’t seemed particularly surprised. Baelock is truly sorry to see his apprentice go, but consoles himself that he would leave soon anyway. He knows Trak’s destiny lies on the mainland. “Ye be about to begin a new life. Don’t forget what I’ve taught ye,” the smith says as Trak moves toward the door.
“I don’t understand why this is happening or even what is happening,” Trak responds. “All I know is this is the only home I’ve ever known.”
“May the ancestor’s watch over you—always,” Baelock signs with his right hand—the customary farewell used to send a loved one on a long journey.
***
Trak stands on the castle’s training field with nearly two hundred grown men and older boys. They stand with their friends, exchanging nervous banter about their uncertain future. A few old veterans are also in attendance; they stand alone. The aging veterans will stay behind and guard the island when the duke’s army goes to war. About half of the conscripts come from Trak’s village and surrounding farms. The others are from a village located to the south. Men from more distant villages are training in locations closer to their homes under the supervision of the nobles who lived in manor houses scattered throughout the island. A group of armed men walk out of the castle’s main gate. Trak recognizes Farg swaggering alongside a wizened warrior who is the captain of the duke’s guard. Both wear the duke’s eagle embroidered on their tunics. The captain approaches the villagers while the others hang back.
“Duke Amin Giantslayer thanks ye for your loyal support,” the captain begins as if the villagers are actually there by choice. “Ye are here because on the mainland, men are gathering their armies once again and the high king has commanded the duke to muster his forces. Only the eldest among you remember the last war and the savage brutality of the enemy. They can tell ye that when war comes many will die. Today begins your training. Pay attention! It is your only opportunity to master the skills needed to survive or, if it be your fate, to die honorably for your king. Sergeant Neafon Damnfury will be your instructor. Obey his every instruction!”
A middle-aged and powerfully built goblin steps forward and barks in a loud voice, “My first task is to insure you are physically ready. An army travels only as fast and as far as its weakest member. Therefore, weakness is not tolerated. We will begin each day with a forced march. When ye can cover twenty leagues in a morning, ye will be given the rank of Basic Soldier. Prepare yourself. We march as soon as ye strip off your extra clothing.”
Trak has no sooner stripped to his undergarments than Neafon shouts to form up in five columns. There is mass confusion. “A pack of dogs has more understanding of a formation than ye dumb farmers,” he shouts and physically shoves some of the recruits to their correct positions. Farg and the other onlookers add to the confusion by heckling from the sidelines. Neafon then shouts, “When marching, maintain your position; ye must move as one. If ye lose the formation, we will return to the start and begin again.” He starts the formation running at a slow pace. Yet before they even reach the bottom of the hill, Neafon orders the columns to return to the top of the hill and regroup. On the second attempt, Trak pays more attention to the other runners and adjusts his trajectory and pace to maintain his position. After five minutes of slow jogging, Neafon orders the column to a halt. “Better,” he says and gives the command to reverse direction.
They march even more slowly back to the training field where he divides the recruits into two groups. One group executes upper body-strengthening exercises while the recruits in the second group are given a stick and taught the basic stances used in sword-combat. The groups switch tasks and after a couple of hours, Neafon says they are done for the day. “Ye have lands to attend and jobs in the castle to perform; therefore, the training schedule begins deliberately. By summer ye will be expected to do much more. Now get to work!”
***
Trak is pleased with how easily he performed the tasks. He collects his discarded clothing and runs to the broch to prove to anyone watching that he is not tired. He thinks, I am bigger, stronger and smarter than the others. I will be a great warrior. Everyone will fear me. Trak is still lost in his fantasy as he enters the broch. The alchemist is sitting at a table reading a particular book that he often carries around like a prized possession. “How was your first day in the army?” Krage asks in the court language. “It was easy, just basics—marching, exercises and footwork,” says Trak, attempting to use courtly speech. “Our trainer warned us the drilling would grow more arduous in the future.”
“I am pleased that you are using the high-speech. In our conversations, I want you to practice until it becomes completely natural.”
“Conversations,” Trak thinks. In the five years that he has known the alchemist, they have never shared anything like a conversation.
When Krage retires for the evening, Trak notices that the alchemist forgot to take his mysterious book with him. In the past Krage is careful to guard the book as though it is priceless. Trak can’t resist and decides to take a quick gander at the tome. The binding doesn’t look particularly old or ornate. The script is incomprehensible, but above each word appears a goblin word or glyph written in a different hand. Trak guesses they represent Krage’s translation of the foreign text into the goblin common tongue. He doesn’t understand the meaning of all the words, but since they are written phonetically, he can pronounce them. “An Alchemist’s Guide to Metallurgy,” he reads out loud.
Trak wonders. Is this the language of men? Did the enemy write this book?
Trak keeps a small fire going late into the night. The book is not like any he has seen before. It contains written instructions on how to smelt and work different types of metal. In addition to the text, it contains numerous schematic drawings. Trak has never seen drawings of this type, and is amazed by how much detail can be compressed into a two-dimensional sketch. He concentrates at first on the chapter devoted to smelting bronze. From the schematic drawings, he mentally constructs the various types of kilns that could be built and grasps the relative merits of each design. He finds the treatise very exacting and consistent with what he has learned under
Baelock’s tutelage.
He pays special attention to the chapter on gold. He has never worked with the most precious of metals. The chapter is mostly concerned with minting gold coinage. On the island, most exchanges take place through bartering. Soldiers brought back a few small coins from the mainland, but these are made of copper and kept as souvenirs of their travels. Trak learns that by adding traces of other metals to gold, an alloy can be created that enriches the yellow color and increases the hardness and durability of the coin. The book illustrates the carving of the dies used to stamp designs into the gold blanks. The creators of the dies could carve detailed designs of men driving war chariots on surfaces no wider than a fingernail. Although he has never seen a depiction of a dragon, he is excited to recognize one on the head of an illustrated die. He wonders how is it possible to recognize something that one has never seen. Is it necessary to have seen a dragon in order to be able to draw one in so much detail?
Trak is disappointed that the book doesn’t discuss the transformation of lead into gold.
It is late in the night when Trak reaches the chapter on iron. Trak realizes that iron is the new metal that men turn into powerful swords. The process of smelting iron is similar to that used to make bronze, but there are surprising nuances. The ore is not as rare as he supposes. It is abundant in the rust-colored rocks that are plentiful in the island’s cliffs. An important difference is in the kiln that, besides being more massive, is designed to permit an efficient flow of air into the heating chamber. In the diagram, arrows represent the air that flows through the oven and vents out the top of a tall flue. He cannot imagine how anyone could pump a bellows large enough to supply the amount of air required. It seems odd that in the final step, the purified iron forms a lump at the bottom of the kiln that has to be beaten into whatever shape is required rather than melted and poured into a mold.
In the morning, the alchemist finds Trak asleep by the fire. The tome is sitting on the table where he absentmindedly left it. “It is cold in here. Wake up and light the fire,” Krage barks. When the alchemist is at last comfortably seated in front of a fire sipping his morning tea, he tells Trak that he is to begin the study of alchemy in earnest. “When you are not participating in military training or performing your chores here in the broch, study my alchemy texts. Follow me!”
They do not stop at the second floor library of the broch as Trak expects. Instead they continue toward the roof. Krage enters the third floor chamber, where glass flasks and retorts sit on heavy wooden tables and jars of powders and liquids line the shelves. “This is my alchemy laboratory. I built it years ago. On the shelves you will find books and chemicals that you may find useful.” Before Trak can take in everything, Krage heads out of the room and up the stairs.
The doors to the fourth and fifth floors are sealed. Krage doesn’t stop until he reaches the battlements. Trak has never been so high above the ground. He can see almost the entire island from the top of the broch; even the mainland appears as a distant streak along the horizon. “This is where you will perform your alchemy experiments. I don’t want you stinking up the broch,” Krage says as he departs and leaves Trak standing on the roof.
The lad’s attention drifts toward the distant horizon. He picks out details in the landscape. He sees a hawk, flying over a field. If he can make iron, he will be free like the hawk. He imagines soaring above the terrain and, through keen eyes, seeing every object below in sharp relief. He senses the wind on each feather as he banks and dives down the cliff face to sweep across the white-capped waves below and soar on to the mountains on the distant mainland. Just the day before, he was searching for a future that seemed hopelessly elusive and now suddenly everything is clear. He would master the secrets of the new metal, and the knowledge will take him to a new life.
Eventually, he emerges from his reverie and returns to a practical consideration of how he will accomplish his goal. He would study alchemy. It will better prepare him to make iron. He will make weapons superior to any the world has ever seen. Iron will catapult him from obscurity. The diagrams in Krage’s book seem clear enough. He needs a bigger and hotter kiln than he has ever seen.
Trak understands that the secret of smelting iron is to achieve and sustain the temperature required to liquefy the impurities in the rock and allow them to flow out, leaving the metal behind. It is not necessary to achieve the much higher temperature needed to melt the metal itself. But even to achieve the temperature required to remove the impurities, a powerful bellows would be necessary to blast air into the furnace. He doubts that even the large hand-operated bellows that he uses in Baelock’s forge would be enough. “Fuel?” he muses. Charcoal would make a hot furnace, and perhaps freshly cut wood that is still saturated with flammable resins would burn even hotter. Trak continues thinking about the problem as he descends the staircase, grabs some bread from the kitchen and heads in the direction of the training field to continue his military indoctrination.
***
The next few training periods are repetitions of the first day. Trak is surprised how fast the villagers learn to advance in formation. By the end of the first week they are marching five leagues in two hours and smartly executing changes in direction on command. This makes the workouts both more efficient and exhausting. Fortunately, their stamina increases proportionally. On the tenth day, Neafon announces that close-quarter combat training will begin. The duke’s sons and several soldiers are each assigned to train five or six villagers in single combat. With great bravado the instructors best the villagers’ pathetic attempts to defend themselves.
When it is Trak’s turn, he is paired with the duke’s eldest son, Farg. Trak clumsily hefts a wooden practice shield and attempts to shift into a fighting stance. He is having difficulty seeing out of his ill-fitting helm when the smaller lad nimbly glides to his right and delivers a painful thwack to Trak’s chest with a wooden sword. He hears chuckles. Trak looks up and sees Dorla standing with her cousins and other onlookers. Why must she always see me when I look like a fool? Wouldn’t now be a good time for one of my ancestors to blow a speck of dust into Farg’s eyes? He suspects his ancestors will disappoint him again.
Farg catches Trak’s glance at Dorla. “What are you looking at, you pig faced bastard? You need to be taught a lesson.”
Farg stalks toward him with his practice sword raised. Trak feels trapped and does the only thing he can think of. He pokes the end of his stick in the ground and flips dirt into Farg’s face. He misses. Farg is more startled than blinded by the dirt. “This over-sized kitchen boy has no honor,” Farg resumes his attack.
Trak makes five more attempts to defend himself with the same pitiful result. The duke’s son grows bored and proclaims, “This half-breed fights like a barnyard chicken. His peck is slow and predictable.” The comment brings approving guffaws from the admiring onlookers. Trak’s aspiration of becoming a great warrior has in one afternoon been beaten out of him. He now seriously doubts he can survive any battle.
In the days that follow, Trak’s skills improve, but he is forced to recognize that his large, cross-breed body can never match the inherent nimbleness of small, full-blooded goblins. Neafon pits him against one opponent after another. He ends every day bruised and discouraged, hardly in any condition to spend the night trying to make iron. Eventually, he discovers that the only way he can survive his encounters is to adopt a defensive strategy. If he stays crouched behind a large shield and concentrates on blocking his opponent’s strikes, the opponent will eventually tire and slow to a pace that Trak can equal. At that point Trak can use his superior size and strength. A single blow to his smaller opponent’s shield is often enough to knock his sparring partner to the ground. Employing this technique, he begins to win bouts. His fellow trainees complain that he fights cowardly, like a man. Trak has unknowingly stumbled on to the fighting style that the enemy has adopted to combat the goblins’ superior quickness. Neafon recognizes that practicing against Trak provides useful training f
or his students. Trak is frequently chosen to participate in mock combat and develops into a reasonably competent swordsman.
With a spear or bow, Trak fares better. He can launch his spear farther than anyone. He draws the heaviest bow and shoots with reasonable accuracy. By the end of the spring, squads of twenty recruits, armed with wooden swords and shields, can be seen swarming four abreast and five deep across the countryside. On command, the units execute complex maneuvers—like dividing into separate columns to surround a target or merging into a pointed phalanx to smash through an imaginary enemy’s front rank. As promised, the recruits earn the title of Basic Soldier after they successfully run in formation a distance of twenty leagues. The instructors congratulate the new soldiers while at the same time let it be known that in their day they had run much faster.
By the beginning of the summer, it is time to move to the next phase of training. The conscripts are divided according to their abilities and assigned to operational units. Surprisingly, Trak is not assigned to the archers as he expected, but to the sappers. Trak doesn’t know what a sapper is and is alarmed to learn from his fellow trainees that sappers are the poor bastards tasked to destroy enemy fortifications by tunneling under their defensive walls and placing explosive charges. Sappers are considered expendable. Explosives are a relatively new invention, and the techniques for delivering explosives are crude and dangerously unreliable. Trak suspects that Krage had a hand in his assignment to the sapper unit. As the duke’s alchemist, it is his responsibility to manufacture the explosive mixtures and delivery systems.
His fellow recruits make harassing remarks about his chances of survival. One heckler proposes holding a memorial service for Trak to get it out of the way before the fighting starts. Trak laughs with the others. Like most lads of eighteen, he considers his own death too remote to regard seriously.
Forging the Half-Goblin Sorcerer Page 6