A Daemon-Horn Blade Ch. 01

Together, these misfortunes blunted their love rather significantly, but still didn't quite fully stop these two young, frustrated lovers from sharing a few stolen moments together, to dream and ponder their uncertain fates.

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Once the order for the horseshoes was completed and the forge banked low for the night, Rowan declared the work-day to be done, and his eager apprentices raced to tidy up the smithy and make sure that everything was clean and quite in its proper place. Master Gorge was still away down at the village factorage, negotiating to ship a barrel of nails down to the City of Apeleia, or now more often called simply Applewood, down at the southern end of Crystal Lake. Also, the Master might be already negotiating for the purchase of a large shipment of iron ore to arrive sometime after the fall rains swelled the Emerald River enough for such heavy bulk cargo, as he did regularly twice a year in both the early spring and fall. The price would undoubtedly be steep, but in turn their smithy forge was large, and the workers were skilled enough to melt and cast ingots for use by other blacksmiths and ironworkers, further west on the smaller settlements that dotted southern Crystal Lake. With profits from the resale of half of this raw iron, our smithy would have virtually free material to craft with until our next large shipment about six months later. As a result, the master enjoyed good profits and didn't begrudge any use of raw metal that would result in the training of his workers, or production of items, which could be sold locally or shipped either east or west via the factorage for a profit.

Making nails and horse shoes was boring to Rowan, and it was definitely now a fitting task for young apprentices, but it was good training for them and these products were always in demand. If there were no other orders or customers, they made nails. Already they had another half of a barrel of nails completed and, if the next week or so remained quiet at the smithy, they could possibly fill this barrel up to the top and the master could ready it for sale as well. Some lesser smithies might cast their nails from molds, and while this method was indeed much faster and cheaper to the customer it didn't produce good quality nails. Master Gorge produced nothing but the best and the nails that left his smithy could always be sold for a higher premium price and they were even shipped far away from the Duchy to other kingdoms and lands.

The housekeeping done, Rowan released his charges from their duties, and, nearly to a man, they ran happily down the road past the stables and down to the shores of Lily Lake to bathe. Cleaning off the soot of the forge was probably not their only interest while loitering about the shallow waters, amidst the sea of green floating lily pads, with their bright summer blossoms of pink, yellow, blue and white flowers. Most, if not all of the young lads would also be hoping to see and enjoy the sights of a few feminine bare breasts, and perhaps other naked parts, of the local village young ladies, here along this side of the riverbank with them, or perhaps a peek instead at the lovely ladies that attended the Lady Ayleth across the river, such as Rowan's own beloved Cedany, or several other of the prettier local girls.

The Lady had been present at her father's castle on his small river island for nearly a month now, enjoying the island's many gardens and the mild gently flowing waters here, where the Emerald River became shallow and placid, and warmed delightfully under the summer sun. Her father still remained back in the City of Tellismere, from where he normally ruled this Duchy, but he was expected to join his daughter, at their pleasant ducal island summer estate quite soon.

While there were few, if any, local nudity taboos concerning the villagers bathing in the river, a sport which both the young ladies and men of the village quite often enjoyed together, by custom (and to avoid the definite displeasure of the Duke), bathing and sunning on the shores on the Duke's island was quite forbidden to Swanford village men, and firmly enforced. This area was reserved solely for the use of his daughter and her female attendants. To ensure some bounds of propriety, it was also customary that villagers bathing in Lily Lake should not venture any further than half way towards the very nearby island, across this shallow pond, which was no deeper, at any point, than the shoulders of a tall man. While this didn't quite stop lovers from meeting in the middle of the river halfway, often under the cover of darkness, it did provide certain discouragements for 'inappropriate' intermingling of the social classes, at least during the hours of daylight, when the Lady's attendants were under watchful eyes. The separated bathing parties of men and women could, and usually did, spend a great deal of time watching each other, and preening themselves at the delicious thought that they, themselves, were also being watched.

Rowan briefly thought about joining the younger apprentices at play, but decided that, due to the lateness of the hour, he would instead wait in the smithy for his friend Boyle to be released from his labors as well, so that the two of them could go together down to the Goblin's Head to have a bit of supper and enjoy a pint of two of Ypreth's ordinary, which was still a fairly exceptional beer, in Rowan's, rather limited, experience and opinion.

Since it was Fivthday, or 'fifth-day', the normal end of the full days of work for the week, it was the young lads' custom to share a meal out together, usually at the local inn. While Master Gorge did provide full meals (usually quite decent ones) and board for his apprentices and journeymen, it was always nice to have a bit of a change. Tomorrow, Mondæ, or Moon-Day, would be the usual only half a day of labor, so he would have plenty of time, later in the afternoon, to enjoy a swim and maybe even some sunbathing on a quiet secluded spot along the river, perhaps even with Cedany! If not, then certainly on the following day, Freo, a 'free' day that ended the week, they should be allowed to find some quality time alone together.

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It didn't take him long to make certain that every tool was locked safely away in the forge strong-chest, double-check that his charges hadn't neglected any aspect of their cleaning, and verify that indeed all was in order. After a second, more complete inspection, Rowan gave up and sat himself down on an outside tree stump, to wait for his tardy friend. Sunset came and passed and it was soon quite dark before his errant friend, Boyle, lumbered across the dirt road from the stables and tardily greeted his friend.

"Hullo, Ro! Wus'up?" The stout lad enquired and smiled at his friend. The lads had been the closest of friends since Rowan arrived in Swanford about fifteen years, with never a cross word said between them. Boyle looked his friend over and sadly shook his head. "And go change your jerkin and give your arms another wash... you've still got soot all over you! I swear you have absolutely no fashion sense!" He added.

"You should talk!" Rowan laughed as he stripped to his waist to give himself another scrub to clean away the dirt of the forge. "You're the one that smells of horse shit from being in the stables all day!"

"True, but it's a noble smell. I heard a story once that the old Duke, the miser's father, intenti0nally built his working study over the castle stables in Tellismere, and then he even drilled holes into the floor so that the aroma of horse shit could better penetrate. Supposedly he thought that the smell of horse manure quickened his thoughts and made him cleverer!"

"Well, it would certainly keep his advisors from bothering him in there, or at least for long!" Rowan donned a mostly clean shirt and gave his face and hair a quick look in a bit of broken mirror fastened next to the washbasin.

He was a tall lad, the tallest young man in the village and only Boyle had broader and beefier shoulders. He wore his long red hair tied with a rawhide thong into a ponytail that hung just below his shoulders. He tried letting it run free and loose sometimes but it tended to be unruly and curl up in random odd places, not to mention it always blocked his face when he worked and then it would get singed by the heat of the forge. His face was fairly thin but it had both a good nose and a strong well-formed chin that still defied his every effort to grow a reasonable beard. Too many patches and holes in its growth for his taste, so he kept it shaved it clean a couple days a week whenever it began to itch. Cedany preferred his features smooth as well, so his dreams of someday having a proper beard would remain just that for the foreseeable future. His stomach was lean and marbled with solid muscle and if he had an ounce of fat in his body it was perhaps only in his thighs, which were also fairly muscled from his habit of regular swimming. He told himself often that he really need do some running as well for additional exercise but he rarely found the mood or time to do this. Despite the freckles on his arms and a multitude of small scars from his years of working with hot iron, he was accounted to be a handsome young man and a prize catch for any of the young village women.

If he had any fault it was that Rowan never smiled very much and he normally kept his thoughts pretty much to himself. He had been a serious boy who had grown up to be an overly serious young man. Boyle and Cedany were always trying to get him to lighten up, to live more for the moment... or to at least enjoy the fun moments of life when they happened, but even Rowan had to admit that this was very much a work in progress.

Boyle, in turn, was accounted by all to be a most jovial and likeable soul, well favored in looks and nearly as tall and strong as Rowan. He was of a stockier build and nearly all of it was muscle, but already some of it was slowly turning into fat around his midsection despite his being nearly a year younger in age than Rowan. He kept his corn-yellow hair cropped short on top of his freckled round face that usually exhibited a silly grin from ear to ear. Most folks didn't credit him for possessing much in the way of smarts, but if he cared at all, the cheerful lad never showed it. Boyle normally moved, talked and appeared to think quite slowly, but he really wasn't particularly stupid, let alone 'simple'. Like the Emerald River, once it reached the Duke's island and Lily Lake, his mental processes dawdled, and were a bit deliberate and measured. If you were patient and didn't hurry him, the stocky tall lad could be quite as rational and thoughtful as any other young man in town, and his unique perspectives often gave him interesting, and usually correct, insights into the subtleties of their quiet village life. His mental waters didn't run fast, but sometimes they did run fairly deep. For fun, he often liked to talk like a rural bumpkin, but normally he could speak just the same as everyone else. Boyle was amused quite easily, and playing the act of the village idiot often amused him greatly.

"There is sometimes great advantage," the lad often said, "to being completely misunderstood and overlooked. Especially by trade factors and merchants! I've made a lot of coin over the years making investments with Frigrast, our head-factor, that I've only learned of because no one keeps any secrets within my hearing, as they all think I'm an idiot! The jingle of my purse should tell them otherwise!"

Boyle worked across the road at the stables handling and shoeing the horses. The job didn't pay well and he could have easily chosen a different and more challenging profession, but Boyle liked the routine work and he usually had plenty of time to be nearly as lazy as his drunken boss. The one benefit that the stout lad enjoyed was the free and ample meals from the rather pricey inn next door and thus rarely ever had to spend an unnecessary coin. True to his boasting, the allegedly simple lad understood trade and commerce far better than his older friend did, and shared his gains with his friend by usually paying for their occasional meals at the village tavern! Boyle was already a near-legendary trencherman and the food there was plentiful, hot and good. Already, he was starting to build a stomach and unlike his friend Rowan, Boyle didn't care much for any real exercise other than lifting and shoveling hay to reduce it.

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Cleaned up and refreshed, Rowan joined his friend for their walk down to the local tavern. "Not much happened today," he said, "just another quiet day at the forge. The Master was gone for the afternoon and I had to look after the apprentices and the forge. Cegred's horseshoe order is complete -- I had young Jimson run it over to the stable right before we shut down for the afternoon. Did he, or did you, get it?"

Boyle laughed. "The only thing our stable-master got this afternoon was two pitchers of Guv' Hunuwald's best ale into his belly, after which my esteemed master had 'imself his usual long afternoon nap up in the hayloft. The good may it do 'im! But yes, I got the shoes and they're ready for me to mount in the morning."

Kelvin Hunuwald ran the Green Sails, the large inn next door to the stables, which catered to the traveling factors, merchants, and sailors at the nearby docks just down the road. His ale was quite adequate, in Rowan's opinion, but overpriced by village standards, and the surly tapster rarely ever pulled a proper full pint to measure. The innkeeper was a relative newcomer to the village, having arrived here about five years ago, and was of a surly and rather private disposition and didn't go out of his way to make any friends with the locals. Cegred was intimate with the inn's cook and she managed to keep his thirst quenched on a far too regular basis. The local lads, and indeed most of the villagers, nearly always took their custom to the Goblin's Head Tavern, further down the road, on the southern side of Crossroads, just past the stone bridge and guard tower that led across to the Duke's island and the small castle that was his family's usual summer residence.

"Good. The last time, when he drunkenly mislaid our freshly completed order of shoes, and then accused my Master of not making them, was an experience that I could well do without repeating. He's lucky that Gorge didn't increase his price by a few more pence this time... and he certainly will, the next time that sort of thing occurs. Why does Kelvin put up with him managing the stables?"

"Well, he's too stupid to steal, usually too drunk to make any sort of other problems, and 'e works cheap. I don't think 'e gets much more in his pay sack than I do, mores' the pity! Can't say that I'm itching to have the extra responsibility for much the same money, so he can keep the job."

"Can't say as I blame you. Ready to get something to eat?"

"Always! Besides, taking like a bumpkin always builds up a thirst for the gov's rather fine ale!" His stout friend exclaimed, and the two lads started the walk down the river road to the Goblin's Head, barely over five minutes walk away.

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It was fairly dark already, that early summer's evening, as the moon was just barely at a crescent, as usual for this early time in the month. The New Moon always marked the first day of each new month, and the start of the next full moon, as usual, would be marked on the mid-days of the month, the thirteenth and fourteenth, until the last slivers of the moon disappeared on the twenty-fifth and sixth; the last days of the month, and the two customary holiday and holy days honoring the named God of the month. This month, Lígfýr, after the God of Fire, was an apt choice, since it started the true heat of summer. At the end of this month the Summer Solstice festival would be held, one of the most important holidays of the year. The priests of Yfelde Soð, the God of Justice, had tried to ban the use old calendar, or at least rename the other months now that the rest of The Seven had been banished, but popular resistance was stubborn, even in cities in towns where the prelates and bishops of this stern, and sole remaining God had many followers, and even some temporal power.

Apprentices, who received their pay quarterly, on the solstice festivals, would be especially glad to see the holidays come, eager to spend their coins on treats, a wanted luxury or two at the market, or perhaps spent instead on courting a lover. As skilled craft and tradesmen, both lads received their pay at the end of each month, usually on Freo-twā, the second 'free-day' at the end of the month, just before the two holy days honoring the God or Goddess that ended each month. This four day holiday from work, at the end of each month, was usually much enjoyed by all, and eagerly anticipated. As this was just last weekend, both of their purses still jingled with coins.

Passing by the warehouses that lined the river side of the road, near the docks, the chums greeted and waved at Sedric, the Warehouse-Master, who acknowledged their greeting with a curt nod. Sedric was as dependable and stolid as a man could get, but like the surly innkeeper, the older man kept much to his own counsel and was never public with his affections. Still, he performed his duties well and it was always best to stay on his good side.

Next they stopped, for a moment, by the bridge guard tower and the lads waited a few moments for one of their other friends, Bryce, a young guardsman. Oddly, although he worked the day shift, tonight he was still being held on duty, long after sunset, when he should have been normally released for the night. The head of the night-watch guard for the bridge, Sergeant Arard, was more than a little concerned that the evening trade caravan, up from Haldyne, was apparently more than a bit delayed. In the long days of summer, when the caravan wagons started off at the very crack of dawn, it was usual for the waggoner's and teamsters to make the twenty-five mile or so trip by no later than mid-afternoon, especially when the dirt road was hard and dry, as it currently was. Even considering for some misfortune, like a broken wagon wheel or axle, the daily trade caravan should have already arrived... but it still had not.

Still, the lads regarded the night sergeant, like his daytime counterpart Lieutenant Robrick, as a pretty good sort of egg, who was a decent but dutiful boss to his troops and never allowed his men to start any problems with the local Swanford villagers. Arard waved Bryce on, and told him that he could take a few minutes off for dinner, but that he would need to return as soon as possible, unless the situation changed.

Their fellowship time was now rather limited, so the three young men hurried down the river road the final one hundred or so feet to the Púca Cápa, or better known locally as the Goblin's Head Tavern. Once there was in fact a real Goblin's head mounted on a pike outside of the village tavern, killed allegedly by the innkeeper's father, who was once said to have done some adventuring in his youth. The preserved head had eventually decayed from its exposure to the elements, and Ypreth, who inherited the tavern from his father, had it replaced by a carved and painted wooden replica.

The taproom was quite crowded with villagers and off-duty guardsmen from the castle, and the main topic of conversation was very definitely the overly delayed caravan. Most of the elders and masters, including Rowan's master, Gorge, were seated together at one long table nearest the serving counter, where the village headsman, Vainard Miller, father of Rowan's beloved Cedany, was holding court. While Rowan tried his best to be respectful to the man who someday would probably be his father-in-law, the pompous windbag was a difficult man to like, or even sometimes tolerate. Even the Duke wasn't even thought to be terribly fond of him, but that equally weak man was always a ready victim to any sort of flattery, which the experienced headsman could lay on endlessly, like mortar upon bricks.