Chapter 8: Forge master’s Hammer
After a turn down a narrow path, they arrived at the only other fenced structure in town. Unlike the Lord’s residence, this one was surrounded by a crude plank wall. Inside the yard, a stocky man with a thick red beard and a round belly chopped firewood with practiced swings.
Kaelor’s brows lifted slightly at the sight of the red hair, such hues were uncommon, even rarer this far from noble bloodlines.
He studied the weapons and tools scattered around the yard. They were functional. But nothing more. Their flaws were glaring, even to Kaelor, who had never once lifted a hammer. It was odd, Vulcanus looked the part of a master blacksmith in exile... but his craft told a different story.
"Good morning, Mr. Vulcanus," Mildred said sweetly. "His Lordship wishes to speak with you."
Vulcanus didn’t stop chopping. "If this is about that silver coin nonsense, forget it. I wouldn’t forge a chamber pot for you to shit in."
Kaelor’s eyes darkened. "I didn’t come for buckets. I want you to forge weapons for my new guard."
"I don’t have the ores," Vulcanus replied bluntly, barely sparing them a glance.
Kaelor expected that. The town had no mine and was leagues from any proper trade route. Imports from the Baron’s estate were probably rare and expensive. Vulcanus must have been surviving through barter, but that couldn’t last. Not with wolves breathing down their necks.
Still, something didn’t sit right. The man didn’t seem like someone barely getting by. His forge was clean. His muscles hardened. There was more to him.
Kaelor turned, ready to leave, he wouldn’t waste time arguing.
Then Vulcanus’s voice rang out behind him.