Red Valor by Shad Callister

Author:Shad Callister [Callister, Shad]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Barde Press
Published: 2019-09-24T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 22: A WAYWARD SMITH

Ashon and his men leaned forward. “You’ll let us alone?”

“I will not.”

The chiefs murmured, but Ashon silenced them with a raised hand. “What, then?”

Pelekarr reached into his tunic and drew forth an object. In the firelight it gleamed gray, a twisted and ugly metal lump full of holes.

“You know what this is?” Pelekarr asked.

Ashon’s eyes narrowed and he nodded slowly. “Aye.”

“Where is the smith who wrought it?”

There was a silence, then Ashon said, “He perished. He was one of those the centipede killed, poor young fellow.”

Pelekarr laughed. “I require the truth.”

Ashon growled. “You call me a liar to my face?”

“I saw the centipede’s victims, sir, and those men lacked the physique of a smith. No, your smith lives, and I want to meet him. The lives of your people depend on it.”

Ashon glowered, and no one spoke for a long moment. All around, the Ostorans had gone still and silent, serving girls frozen in place and feasters silently watching their leaders.

Then, from the shadows near a hut, a large shape stepped forward, feet crunching slightly on the graveled earth. The voice was low.

“Here I stand.”

Ashon growled in his throat. “Curse you, lad.”

“I won’t be hidden away. Not if lives depend on it.” Heavy footsteps approached. Ashon glowered fiercely, but there was little he could do. A moment later the smith entered the firelight.

The fellow was shirtless, and from the breadth of his shoulders and biceps, Keltos could well believe he made his living swinging a hammer. The beginnings of what would one day grow into a thick brown beard dusted his chin, but it was obvious that he still hadn’t seen twenty years despite his impressive muscular development.

“You are the smith?” Pelekarr asked.

“Aye. The only one here.”

“Come forward.”

The young man hesitated, unwilling to jump at the captain’s order, but after a moment he circled the fire and stood defiantly before the captain.

Pelekarr held up the metal lump. “You made this?”

The young smith had been glowering, but now open anger clouded his face as he saw the object up close, and his brows drew together in a black bar. His hands balled into fists and he clenched his jaw muscle. “It’s nothing. Junk. Slag.”

“But what kind of metal is it?”

The smith waited another moment, and Keltos noted that his eyes flickered toward Ashon and then back to the object. “It’s iron,” he finally said.

“How does a young smith on the Ostoran frontier know the working of iron?”

The hulking youth opened his mouth to answer, but silenced himself before the first word had left his mouth. He stood, shaking with restrained rage, staring at Pelekarr. Then he folded his arms across his chest and jutted his jaw, not saying a word.

Pelekarr glanced at Ashon with raised eyebrows.

The chief reluctantly turned to the smith. “Answer him, lad. His soldiers hold us all in their power.” He looked back at Pelekarr. “I fear the captain’s price for mercy is information.”

Keltos could hear the husky lad’s teeth grinding. Finally he spoke. “My father taught me iron-work.

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