“Let’s get you some food first,” Amanda said. “Follow me around to the side door.” As she started to walk, she added, “Occasionally guests leave some things behind. I’ll have to go through that stuff and see if there are any clothes that would fit you two.”
After a lunch of bread and some kind of lettuce that grew in the shallows of the lake, Charles and Heather headed to the blacksmith shop. Amanda had given them clothing that might have been some nobles’ hunting attire. The green and gray materials were soft leathers and heavy, layered, linen.
“I don’t think I could get used to wearing such tight pants,” Heather said. “We might have to venture into civilization to get some proper clothes in proper colors. I like the green, but the gray and brown are not pleasing.”
“I’m just happy to not be wearing a blanket,” Charles said.
Gus’s shop was small and tidy with piles of iron sitting behind it in a small open barn. A young man was drawing something at a desk on the opposite side of the workshop from the forge. Charles guessed it would be Gus and called out the name.
“Yes?” The man answered, setting his charcoal down. He walked over to Charles and Heather. “I’m the inn’s smith, any work you need should be requested through the barkeep, stable boy or innkeeper.”
Gus wore a red leather apron over a sooty white shirt and canvas pants. He had a lithe frame like a man who hadn’t yet reached twenty. Charles, though only twenty, had a thicker body. Perhaps Gus spent more time planning and less time swinging the hammer, Charles reasoned.
“Amanda sent us over to help you get those decorative dragons done,” Heather said.
Gus looked at Charles and nodded, “You look like a blacksmith. As long as you know what you’re doing and stay out of my way when I need to be at the anvil, have at it. The iron’s out back. I only use iron from the Red Clans, so don’t waste it.” Gus appraised them again, then, without another word, went back to his desk and picked up his charcoal.
“What did he mean that you look like a blacksmith?” Heather asked as they walked around back to pick out some iron from the barn. “You look like Charles to me.”
Charles pointed to the back of his wrist. “Strong muscles here mean that I’m either a blacksmith or a carpenter. He pointed to a different part of his hand, here would mean I’m a swordsman.”
“I guess the muscular shoulders don’t hurt,” Heather said. “Only Gus isn’t as muscular as you, I wouldn’t have noticed the same muscles on him.”
“Maybe maintaining an inn takes less smithy work than maintaining a coal mine.” Charles ventured.
Gus had a few long rods of iron among his stock so Charles picked half a dozen of them and headed back inside. The coals were barely warm, so he stirred them up and started pumping the bellows. He showed Heather how to pull the rope quick enough to speed the heating but not so fast as to burn away the coal closest to the bellows. He didn’t need to explain the whys to her; he’d done that several times in the past.
While the forge heated up, he stepped over to a rack of tools and looked for the right tongs, hammers and cutting chisels. A thick layer of dust covered the tool rack as he leaned over to blow the dust off, he paused.
“Heather, come here,” he said.
She left the bellows and stepped beside him. “What?”
“The tools,” Charles said. “Look.”
“Gus needs a maid,” Heather said.
“It’s not about what he needs,” Charles said. “It’s about what he doesn’t need.”
Heather looked at him like she didn’t want to play the guessing game.
“Something wrong?” Gus asked. He’d stepped over to the forge and pumped the bellows a couple times. “I should have two pairs of round stock tongs.”
“Oh!” Heather said. She elbowed Charles. She then said to Gus, “But you’re not sure?” With barely a pause she continued, “You’re not sure because you don’t use your tools.”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to imply.” Gus seemed nervous. Charles understood why.
“I’m implying you can do this,” Heather grabbed one of the iron rods and heated it to a red glow.”
“Of course I can,” Gus said. “Why didn’t you answer the Wizard call?”
“Wizard call?” Heather asked.
“You don’t know,” Gus said. “Well you should. When I said I only use Red Clan stock, you are supposed to respond, ‘Well, it is the hottest.’ That’s how we know we’re both Wizards. The red apron is a hint to ask about the Red Clan iron too.”
“I didn’t know,” Heather said. “I thought I was the only one.”
“You need to be trained,” Gus said. “You need to get to Melnith or Grabarden and seek one of the schools.”
“There are schools?” Heather asked. “I thought Wizards were extinct.”
“There are two, and they’re very secretive.” Gus put a finger to his lips. “Find a Wizard in one of those cities using the phrase I taught you and they’ll take you to the school.”
“I will,” Heather said.
“Do it soon,” Gus said. “More often than not, when a Wizard is untrained, they explode, usually killing themselves and sometimes blowing their homes apart, killing their families too.
“We might be too late for that,” Charles said. “Only when Heather had her incident, she destroyed a town.”
“And she survived?” Gus said. “Lady, you have too much power. Get trained and until you do, find some trollswart. It’s a relaxing herb that will help keep you calm.” He walked over to the tools and shook his head. “I guess the dust is a bit suspicious.”
“And your muscles are too small,” Charles said. “I see you keep your forge burning as a ruse, but you should do some of your work manually to help with the charade. It will build your muscles up a bit, which would also help.”
“Can you teach me anything?” Heather asked.
“I could,” Gus said. “But, without the proper training you will be dangerous with anything I’d show you. Training starts with several seasons of emotion control exercises, I really don’t want an untrained Wizard around me that long, especially not one that took down a town. You can get those dragons finished, but after that, get yourself to a school.”
CHAPTER 7: PANTROS
The sun had just set when Pantros and Tara crossed the bridge over the Backflow River into the town of Stonewall. By the smell, Pantros could tell it was a fishing town. The largest building in the town was also the only Inn. The Backwards Trout drowned out the smell of rotting fish with the smell of cooked fish and mulled wine. As he expected, Sheillene was sitting on a chair atop a table by the hearth, strumming her mandolin. The gathered crowd was far sparser than a night at the Hedgehog and Pantros and Tara had no difficulty finding a table close to the makeshift stage.
Sheillene silenced her instrument and stepped down from the table, apologizing to the crowd for cutting her first set short. She walked over and sat beside Tara. “I would not have expected to see you outside of your Inn, let alone this far west.”
“It’s only a day’s travel west,” Tara said. “But, I’ve never been here before. We’ve had something happen. Or maybe I should say Pantros got himself in a bit of trouble.”
“Someone finally caught you and you’re on the run?” Sheillene asked.
Pantros laughed. “I didn’t get caught.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Tara said. “You got caught, but more as in caught in a trap than caught misbehaving.”
“This sounds sticky,” Sheillene said. “Is there a story in it? I’m always looking for fresh stories to tell.”
“It’s not much of a story yet,” Pantros said. “But, if you let us travel with you as you head west, I am sure there will be more stories.”
