Chương 11: -11- Darksteel

Calder- Rime Rest Township Calder trudged through the ankle-high snow towards the blacksmith, Dectus trailing in his wake. The sun was just starting to set over the ocean, casting golden hues that glistened off the lightly falling snow. Today had been pleasant by winter standards; no one was snowed into their houses, and you didn't need to follow a damn rope out to a privy, but everyone bustling around town was still wrapped in thick cloaks and coats.

The sharp ring of metal on metal rhythmically punctuated the relative stillness of the town. The blacksmith was a bastion of warmth that stood out like a sore thumb this time of year. A haze drifted from the large open doorway where snowflakes had drifted inside and not even survived long enough to land. The area in a ring around the blacksmiths was practically a moat of melted ice and slurry. A small river of water ran from it across the road down to the beach.

It was a pervasive enough feature that this section of the dirt road was replaced with brick so he didn't simply wash away the road every year. Calder stepped through the doorway and was immediately assaulted by a dry crackling heat that would rival any desert. It was especially bracing compared to all the frozen blood still stuck against him. He had done his best to wrap his thicker traveling cloak around the wounds to avoid attention. Calder smirked at Dectus's shocked reaction to the blacksmiths interior.

A forge burned inside one of the walls fed a typhoon of fresh air by a series of humming crystals attached to vents where bellows would normally go. Neat rows of fine ingots were piled near it. The drep blue hue of adamantine, and even small nearly white ingots's of mithril. All of the unexpected extravagance paled compared to the heart of the workshop. An anvil so large even Calder wouldn't be able to move it hummed with power in the dead center of the room.

Every inch of it was engraved with deep runes that had been etched by a master enchanter. It was probably worth more than most of the rest of the town combined. Calder saw Dectus's mouth actually drop and him mouthing the words "How? Why?" like a fish out of water. After he turned and saw a row of swords that would look at home in the hands of a prince hung directly next to modest horseshoes.

Calder didn't answer him, instead turning towards the squat bushy figure emerging out of a side storeroom, his hands full of tools. Bromwick raised his bushy eyebrows on seeing Calder; a grin peeked out from under the soot-covered beard.

"Ahh, there ye are, laddie. Good, finally deciding to take me offer of apprenticeship. The forge gods have blessed ye with Ham hawks fer fists fit fer smashing metal till the day the mountains fall!" He belted out in amusement. Calder shook his head, not managing to keep a grin off his face. The ornery dwarf did this every time he saw Calder walk into the shop.

"No, I'm afraid you won't be getting the perfect pack mule of an apprentice. Sorry you still have to cart your own loads of ore around." Bromwick shrugged and tossed an ingot into a small mold on the anvil before setting a bar into the end of the mold and then hefting the entire contraption over to the forge.

"Aye, shame I have to try, though my knees aren't what they once were… Ye know… people beg! They beg me to take them under me wing, and yet here ye are, me practically throwing my beard at you and nothing but scorn!" He faked working himself up in indignation before giving up with a waggle of his eyebrow. Calder laughed; Bromwick wasn't even lying. Monthly they had hopefuls traveling from the city, hoping to apprentice under a relatively famous second-tier crafter.

He without exception sent them back to the city after getting them to move things around his shop for a day or two. They did get some pointers out of it, and he would let them "try to prove themselves." With a crafted sword or dagger, but mostly the dwarf really didn't want to deal with his own materials management. Bromwick's hopefulls was a well-known joke in the town. In something like ten years now he had yet to actually take an apprentice.

When he was asked about it, he always said he didn't want anyone with city preconceptions. That "good earthly folks who have been raised in mud and blood like me have the heart needed for the job." Calder was pretty sure that was bullshit, but it certainly sounded sort of profound. Calder leaned on the anvil, a slightly nervous look on his face.

"I, ah, actually have a bit of a big job. And I don't exactly have the coin to pay for it; I was hoping we could work out a material trade." Bromwick turned around, setting his work to the side, fully interested now.

"What are you thinking? You haven't asked me to make you more than hinges or a doorknob, and I've known ye since ye were wee..." Calder grimaced.

"I need armor that fits me, and I need a sword…that's better suited to my frame." He pulled his broken blade out to show Bromwick. Bromwick took it and then frowned deeply at the break and lines of cracks leading all the way into the handle. He quickly shut the door to the outside and turned back to Calder, a serious look on his face.

"This sword is shattered due to cold…unnatural cold, thee kind a class might be able to put out…And armor… Calder, ye know I'm fond of you, lad. You are one of the only big fellers I've ever met that didn't throw ye weight around needlessly. But a full set oh armor for ye is a lot of metal, and the sword…" He looked at the cracks again, doing some math in his head.

"I have an idea for how we can deal with the cold; I might find myself… errmm… around… rather often now," Calder said, trying to dance around the issue even though he knew damn well Bromwick knew exactly what was happening. He wasn't stupid. Bromwick snorted, "Aye, enchantments are what ye would need, boy; the armor and sword alone would be over fifty gold crowns. I'd do that for ye on loan. I know you would pay me back for it. But the enchantments…

I can't front you nearly two hundred crowns worth of coin in material." Calder flinched; he knew a massive custom set would be expensive. He didn't think it would be that insane, though. He was touched that Bromwick was offering to make him armor and a sword, though. Calder picked up a metal ingot off the ground, just a simple copper one, and let a tinge of the beyond escape his fingertips. The ingot flash-froze over even in the heat of the closed smithy; his breath frosted over as he held it up to show Bromwick.

The temperature in the room slowly dropped as he kept channeling just a mote into the metal.

"I need you to make me a full set of darksteel armor and a sword. Pure darksteel, not a mix." Bromwick's eyes went wide, then he slapped a hand on his thigh, descending into laughter.

"Oh, oh gods, boy, that was a good one. Hahahah, ohh whew, I thought you were serious for a moment there." Calder stared at him deadpan, waiting for him to realize it wasn't a joke. Bromwick's eyes lost the joyful tinge.

"Boy, ye might be strong enough to lumber around in a set of Darksteel, Might. Even if ye were. Pure Darksteel, screws with your mana, something fierce, ye wouldn't be doing any touch of cold tricks. Hells, if I had enough purified steel to make a suit of armor that big, I could just retire to my own mountain hold." He finished with a scoff, looking at Calder in confusion. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. Calder knew why he was so confused.

Darksteel wasn't terribly hard to acquire; you could find it in the dungeon spanning half the damn coastline. The trick was that mining it released spirits trapped in the ore. Dark things that seeped into the metal over time. the same dark things that gave it its unique properties. Forging it was even worse; every removed imperfection could release a lethal spirit of unknown power. The crown used it in weapons designed to fight the Kalderan horrors.

But they hired adventurers to retrieve the metal and then had it cleansed carefully in a militant church over months before delivering the purified ore to a smith. Meaning actual purified ore was worth practically its weight in gold and never used alone. It was always mixed with other metals in just large enough quantities to retain some of its unique qualities. Pure darksteel would stop immaterial entities in their tracks, disrupt mana, and was nearly immutable to hot and cold devoid of magic.

That was all separate from the fact that it was heavier and stronger than sin. With all that in mind Calder really understood why Bromwick thought this was a shitty joke. But he really needed to convince him he could make this happen. The metal was almost tailor-made for him. Between his strength and his utter lack of mana. It would be a massive advantage against most foes that no one else could have without simply giving up on using their mana-powered skills. Calder finally answered.

"If I can bring you the ore. And purify it…would you take purified darksteel as payment?" He kept his voice even and his face serious. Brownick's face shifted from annoyance to concern.

"Calder me boy…even if you could do that…what kind of unholy class did you get…to want this?"

"The kind that can make a difference…I know it's a big ask, but…will you do it?" Calder leaned down slightly.

"It might well be the difference between life or death for me in the coming years."

"Aye… I would…" Bromwick answered quietly, "But before you go off on some fool's errand and die just pulling some rock out of the dungeon walls… ye have to show me something, some way to prove this isn't just you foolishly walking to your death. Otherwise we don't have a deal." Calder nodded a single time, totally understanding why the dwarf wanted that. He must have had plenty young fool hearty warriors ask him for similar things in the past who simply perished trying to acquire mythic materials or money for them.

Calder wasn't so sure he wouldn't just add to that list, but he felt that he had a better chance than most. He reached over and touched Dectus on the shoulder with Make Material. His haunting armored form suddenly shimmered into existence. Dectus looked slightly startled but managed a bow.

"Lord Dectus at your service, blacksmith. I'm not sure what you were just discussing, but the big idiot is my apprentice. And I must say you are a welcome surprise in this town filled with mundanity." Oh, wonderful, so he is capable of having manners; he just chooses not to with me. Great. Bromwick was less phased than Calder would have expected. Rubbing his beard quizzically before some dots connected and he recognized who Dectus was. The smith slowly turned towards Calder.

"What the fuck is ye class laddie…that…that is the ghost of a legend." Calder trusted Bromick more than nearly anyone else in the village, but he didn't want to put him in a tough position, so he kept it vague.

"It doesn't use mana, and…the remnants of the past can help me in a very real way."

"If you bring me the metal, I can make you armaments… but Calder, the amount ye would need is immense." He pointed to a nearly overflowing wheelbarrow filled with rough iron ore. We would need to purify nearly that much." Haha... wow, that's a lot… This is going to be rougher than I thought, isn't it? Calder didn't let the self-doubt shine through. He would know soon enough if he really could purify the metal during the forging.

If he couldn't mine it without getting gutted, he wouldn't stand a chance when the deeper monstrosities came out to play.

"Thank you, Bromwick." He bowed respectfully. Bromwick turned from him to the ghost "Well you take care of him since you stole my apprentice." Dectus looked surprised, having no real context.

"Wait, really? You were a blacksmith's apprentice? That makes so much sense with how meaty and clumsy you are." Bromwick let out a wicked smile.

"Right like the boy was born for it!"

"He certainly wouldn't have been my first choice for my sword style. It focuses on a mix of dexterity and power, not just clubbing things with a hammer." Calder shook his head and walked away from the smithy, depriving Bromwick of the chance to give Dectus too many things to tease him over. Bromwick just laughed and went back to work as Calder threw the door open and headed back into the night air. The cold air blasted him fiercely, snow immediately tangling in his hair.

He smiled; it felt oddly comforting compared to the heat of the forge. Calder headed up the road towards his home.

Calder never made it inside the cottage; instead, he found his grandpa stuck in a shallow grave he had been trying to dig by hand before the sun completely set. The poor old man was sitting heavily against the bottom of the shallow pit, a pained look on his face. Oh, damn it, Grandpa, what did you do to yourself this time? Joel let out a heaving groan followed by a concerningly rattling cough as he tried to straighten himself up using a shovel like a walking stick.

Calder's face softened into concern, and he quickly thudded down into the grave next to his grandpa. The poor old geezer was out here in the damn twilight trying to dig a grave that was on Calder's chore list that he had gotten too caught up to finish.

"Grandpa, please let me help you out of here." Calder said, feeling more than a bit of shame. This was at least partly his fault. Joel waved his hand at Calder loosely as if to dismiss the help.

"No, no, don't trouble yourself; you have had a busy week. Defending the town and all!" He tried and failed to pull himself over the edge of the grave. Calder reached over and gently scooped the old man up in his arms. It was frighteningly easy; his grandpa had lost even more weight. He simply stepped out of the grave and gently set the man down on the snow. His grandpa looked at him with embarrassed eyes. He was trying too hard to stay independent as time slowly won and his body gave out a little more each day.

He relented slightly and leaned on Calder's outstretched arm all the way back into the cabin, where Calder helped him into his chair. His grandfather's hand snagged on Calder's cloak, pulling it sideways enough to expose the icy puncture wounds beneath. They both looked down at them at the same time.

"Grandpa I…" Calder started Joel waved his hand dismissively, his eyes filled with sadness.

"Calder, I… Your life isn't here; it's not what you were born for. You should have left years ago and gone to the academy..." He reached over with a shaking hand to fill his mug with a small splash of wine. Calder wanted to say he couldn't leave to assure his grandpa that he would be around to help him. But they would both know that was a lie. Calder's life was on a trajectory that required him to leave almost no matter what choices he made now.

Instead of talking, he choked back his emotions and started lighting a fire. His grandpa smiled fondly.

"Don't you worry your bones about this old man. He has everything well in hand. Your sister is going to be coming over a few times a day now to check on me." Calder looked over in shock.

"Don't look so damn surprised. I know I'm a proud pain in the ass… Just like I know you would rot here if you thought that's what it took to make sure I was okay." Calder tilted his head down and lifted his gaze towards his grandpa, light moistness threatening his eyes.

"Well, I'm certainly glad you will finally get some good food. Gods know, neither you nor I can cook for shit." Grandpa let out a rattling chuckle.

"Lord, ain't that the truth? I think we would have starved by now if it weren't for the charity of your blessed sister and her kind idiot of a husband."

"Grandpa, tomorrow I'm going to be setting out for a little while… I have… something I must take care of." His grandpa reached out and put a frail hand on his shoulder. He didn't say a word; he just smiled and gave him a proud look along with a squeeze on the shoulder. Calder quietly tended to the cottage until his grandfather fell asleep in his chair. He pulled his blanket up so he wouldn't wake chilled.

Tomorrow is the day we head to the dungeon, and I find out for real if I'm a cocksure idiot who dies without a single footnote in history or if I'm going to become a force unto myself.