Gellen grinned ruefully. “Too true. See you around, Tarrik.”
As Gellen sheathed his sword and left, Tarrik caught sight of Rowert and Khollo. “Rowert!” he shouted. “It’s been too long! Who’s the youngster? Not one of yours, surely?”
Rowert shook his head. “No, not one of mine. Not much opportunity to have a family out here. This is Khollo, Lord Kurkan’s squire.”
“A squire?” Tarrik squinted at Khollo. “My vision isn’t what it used to be, staring into furnaces all day has that effect, but he’s not exactly built like a fighter.”
“You’re not the first to say so,” Khollo observed drily. “But I do my best anyway.”
“I didn’t mean any offense,” Tarrik said hastily. “Even if you’re not built as a warrior, you must have some skill. Lord Kurkan wouldn’t have brought you here otherwise.”
“He has a good heart,” Rowert informed the smith. “This is the boy who rescued Hern.”
Tarrik’s eyes widened. “Indeed,” he murmured. “I appreciate that, lad. My sister would never have forgiven me if Hern came to serious harm out here. I’m his uncle,” Tarrik explained, in reply to Khollo’s confused frown. “She only let him become a cadet because I would be here to watch over him.”
“Hern’s one of the few good ones,” Khollo replied. “I’m glad he’s here, and was happy to help him out.”
“Well, maybe I can help you out in thanks,” Tarrik said brightly, leaning casually on the grindstone. “What do you need?”
“Wilkes threw him out of training this morning,” Rowert explained, exchanging a significant look with Tarrik. Khollo was not a fan of significant looks. He hated the feeling that he was missing out on something important. “He needs a place to stay and some work to do until Lord Kurkan returns.”
Tarrik frowned. “Well, you can stay here and bed down near the fires. It’s warm enough unless the wind gets to blowin’, and there’s plenty of space. But we don’t have just a whole lot of work of any sort right now.”
Khollo shrugged. “That’s okay. I can check with the stables next door when things are slow here.”
“Ever worked in a smithy before?” Tarrik asked suddenly.
“No.”
“Hmm. No matter. We’ll find a use for you,” the smith decided. Tarrik stretched, his thick arms rippling with corded muscles, smock straining across the chest. “Chuck your things in the corner and we’ll get started.”
Rowert looked back towards the gate. “I’d better get back. Thanks for your help, Tarrik. Good luck Khollo.” The guardsman left quickly, headed back to his post.
Khollo set his pack in the back corner of the smithy, next to a low table with various drawing tools and parchments scattered over it. He looked curiously at the topmost one.
“What’s this?” Khollo asked curiously, reaching for the parchment.
“Nothing,” Tarrik said quickly, sweeping it away, hiding the drawing under several others. “Just a . . . side project.”
Khollo frowned. It looked like a weapon, but no weapon he had ever seen. There had been two blades, joined at the center by a wooden shaft. “Some kind of new weapon design?” he asked.
“Don’t make me regret taking you on,” Tarrik growled. “I’ve got work to do, not time to spend answering questions. Do you know how to work the bellows?”
Over the next several hours, Khollo began learning the basics of apprenticing a blacksmith. Tarrik started him on the bellows, keeping Khollo at it until his arms were leaden from the effort and sweat poured from every pore in his body. They moved quickly on though, as Tarrik removed a piece from the furnace and had Khollo hold it steady with long-handled tongs while the smith beat away at the glowing metal. Sparks flew with each blow, initially causing Khollo to flinch away. But as time went on, he became accustomed to the flying embers and was able to watch stoically as dangerously-hot sparks flew all around him.
By the time Tarrik was satisfied with his work on this first piece, which turned out to be nothing more exciting than a long-handled hearth pan, the stable master had come by with a request for a dozen horseshoes. Khollo returned to the bellows and pumped them furiously, feeding the fire within. By the time the horse master’s demands had been met, it was late afternoon and Khollo had quite forgotten the rough sketch Tarrik had hidden from him. He had also forgotten his dismissal that morning. In good spirits, Khollo set off for the keep for dinner feeling for the first time in a while that he had put in a good day’s work.
That feeling of contentment evaporated almost as soon as Khollo set foot in the main hall of the West Bank’s keep. His former comrades were sitting at a table right in front of the door, apparently waiting for him.
“Look who it is!” Genal cried exuberantly. “The only cadet clumsy enough to trip his entire squad!”
The others laughed unpleasantly. Genal leaned forward on his bench, hunching over the table.
“How are you feeling, street rat?” he leered. “Accomplished? Or did you spend all afternoon crying because you weren’t good enough to train with us anymore?”
Khollo turned aside angrily and headed for the kitchens. “That’s right! Run away!” Genal shouted at Khollo’s back. “Though I would have thought you’d had enough of running after this morning.”
Khollo ducked into the kitchens, flexing the fingers of his right hand, longing to draw his sword, pin Genal down, and threaten him with all sorts of horrible consequences if he didn’t back down. But Khollo was smart enough to realize that such a victory would never happen.
Let them jeer, Khollo thought miserably. I’ve been saying I wasn’t cut out for this for years, all that happened today was that it was confirmed. I’m not good enough.
The young warrior stopped abruptly and was nearly run over by
