Chapter 9
Pleasant Work

There were better blacksmiths. Male blacksmiths. Male dwarf blacksmiths. They practically filled Glitterpass. But Rina got along.

And she had visitors.

Rina loved living in the Appalachians. Her family had survived the Folly living in these hills. First as loggers, and when the river started to fill with fish they started throwing out lines. Glitterpass was one of the few passes that had forest, fertile land and some of the best quarries in the area. That this particular town was a trading post was both obvious and a magnet for some of the best craftsmen in the area.

For a long time, it had been rough. An amateur like Rina should have no business in Glitterpass. The dwarves had said so to her face on several occasions. Her iron was barely tough enough for swords, she couldn’t enchant the metal like the sturdier races. They made a point of sending her work for garden rakes and horseshoes.

Rina would smile, plan a revenge that would never come to light, and swing her hammer a little harder. Something was going to come along.

Something did. A giant raid, right out of her own hills. They swept down into Glitterpass with thoughts of pillage and plunder, and maybe a few robust women. The giants killed a third of the town before they were hurled back into the hills, barely bruised.

That was a tough time. It was years ago now. The giants camped right out of sight of the town and patrols. They came out in darkness to harry the merchant caravans and anyone who dared venture outside the walls. Glitterpass responded by leaving their outlying village behind, hiding behind the wall and the river. Trade was drying up, and the giants showed no sign of stopping.

Till they came. Death on the dusty roads. Their saviors riding in with the sunset.

Harsk’s Riders. Rina remembered, and smiled.

Rina smiled. A bit wider than most. She had built her forge closer to the river, a move everyone derided at the time. The ground was too soft, she couldn’t get a water wheel built, and the damp settled into her bones well before the cold winds truly started to blow. But it had not even been scratched by the giant raids, something that could not be said for most. She was one of the few forges that was still working.

She worked the bellows a bit harder. Today was going to be a bit busier than she was used to. It had been a week since Harsk had driven off the giants. Anyone who was getting up was up, and it was time to rebuild.

One of the dwarves walked past her, and snorted. “Ye’re not working the bellows right.” He said.

“I’m workin’ just fine, Balax,” Rina said. “A nice slow start while everyone shakes their cobwebs out. I’m not turning my forge into a furnace just to look like I’m working.”

Balax grunted, and glared. His was one of the first forges to be torn apart in the final assault. The giants had been desperate, and even managed to break through the walls in Harsk’s defense. The dwarf had barely gotten out before one of the brutes fell on his forge. The giant had been burned alive, but the forge was beyond repair. He was out of work.

And now he had to stare at this human woman plying his trade. Doing it in an inferior manner, and with an infuriatingly cheery demeanor. How dare she?

Rina walked down to the river with a bucket. She needed some more for drinking water, and honestly hoped that Balax was going to take a hint and move on. After a second thought, she unlaced her shoes, rolled up her leggings and set her apron aside. It was going to be a hot day, she might as well cool down now.

She waded into the river, letting the icy waters run over her calves. She felt the chill rush over her, waking up. Better than any cup of coffee could do. Rina resisted the urge to just jump in the river and let the cold wash her troubles away. There was work.

She straightened, and reached for the bucket. The blacksmith ran her to-do list through her mind. Repair and rebuff some shovels for the miners working on the wall. A rake for one of the women trying to get some extra crops planted. Trade wasn’t going to be going so well this year, that was going to be more important. The men were still bringing their saddles and weapons to anyone else, but Rina didn’t care. She said to herself she didn’t care.

“Let me help you with that.” A man said.

Rina handed the bucket behind her. “Awful generous of ya.” She said. Most men didn’t give her the time of day. She was homely, her slim figure curved out only by the corded muscles in her arms and legs. Her face was too long, her legs too short. Thankfully her feet were hidden by the river clay.

The man dipped the bucket in the river. “You’re one of the blacksmiths, right?”

Rina dunked her head in the water, and out. Wake up, wake up. Time to start the day.

“Come on, the only people who don’t know about the woman blacksmith have to be…”

She trailed off.

Holding her bucket was Harsk, the leader of the Ride. The savior of Glitterpass, the grizzled veteran that had rescued who knew how many thousands from fire and brimstone. His pants were rolled up, the hat that was his custom tossed by her apron.

“So you are Rina?”

Rina gulped. “Y-yes, sir.”

His eyes crinkled up. “No need for sir. Just another client.”

A client. A client! Harsk was, no he couldn’t be, but he was here and…Rina blinked.

“A client?”

Harsk stuck his thumb back. Half a dozen men and a woman relaxed on the riverbank, staring down at the two. Harsk’s Riders, all dressed up and ready to kill.

“We got our tools tore up something awful last week,” Harsk said. “Broken swords, bent spurs, even a few pieces that are just beyond repair.”

Rina nodded. That was to be expected. “There are some dwarves just a quarter-mile up the river,” she said. “They’d be happy to work on your weapons while I look at those spurs.”

Harsk frowned. “Can’t you do all of it?”

Rina stopped, and stared. No one asked her to do weapon work. She was a woman, the woman blacksmith in Glitterpass. Human to boot. And this was Harsk who was asking.

“I mean, I could…” Rina trailed off, and cursed. Those rakes and shovels needed to be done. Adding what could be another twenty projects on top of it would push back some needed tools for a week.

“I’ll tell ya up front, I’m swamped with repair work.” Rina said. “Everyone needs to get work going, and it’s just me…”

“Would you like help?”

Rina’s mouth opened, and closed. There were words in her head, but they weren’t coming out.

“Help?”

“Can’t really do too much around town,” Harsk shrugged. “They’re good boys, all of them. Just need a little direction and a firm hand.”

Rina still wasn’t completely sure she was hearing correctly.

Harsk whistled. The men leaped up, running over to them.

“Drop what ye need repaired at Rina’s place,” Harsk said. “And wait fer orders.”

The men bowed, and ran off to Rina’s forge.

Harsk waded out of the water. He held up the bucket.

“You coming? We don’t exactly know what we are doing.”

Rina had a team. She had never had a team before. People who would just sit down and listen to her. Six men who listened to her every word and action, waiting for some nugget of wisdom. It was flattering, and rather distracting.

She had them running around Glitterpass. Gathering up the needed iron, chopping logs and shoveling coal into the forge. They worked the bellows until the flames threatened to consume them. Any task that she could think of, Harsk suggested the men perform it.

The Riders never so much as flinched.

Rina sat on her workbench. Around her the Riders hammered out dents, poured iron and tin into molds, and generally made themselves useful. She didn’t even watch them too hard. They only had to be told once to get a concept down.

It had been five days of nonstop work. Did these men ever get tired? Rina wasn’t even working the metal herself after the third day. She spoke with each in turn, setting them to various tasks. They soon mastered them.

Now what was she to do?

There were whispers and more than a few stares. The dwarves had all passed by her forge twice. They didn’t look smug, or bewildered. They glowered at her, at the dishonor. Harsk was supposed to have gone to the best. He deserved the best, him and the rest of these heroes. How dare they choose lesser work?

Harsk would lean back, nod to any who passed by, and bade everyone a fond farewell. He didn’t work. He surveyed the rest of the men, with the pregnant woman by his side. She looked on, a small girl that seemed to disappear into the background by design.

The child must have been his for him to keep her so close. Lucky girl.

Rina didn’t understand the Riders that well. Half of the men had fallen bringing down the frontal assault. Rina had witnessed three deaths, ones that made her tears run just thinking about it. One of the Riders impaled on the bones of his brother. The third crushed to death by uncaring foes. All three died charging into battle without thought of personal safety.

Their former brothers didn’t talk about it. They didn’t talk really. One of them, someone named Carson, did most of the talking. A slick man, wrapped in muscle and good humor. He joked, poked fun at his fellow Riders, tried to keep the atmosphere light. The other Riders wouldn’t respond too much. But they maybe smiled.

Then there was that one. The silent Rider. Thin, almost wraith-like. Rina hadn’t heard him speak, and it seemed like no one expected him to. He just stood there, tapping out a blood groove in his sword.

And he was going to ruin the iron. Rina stood up and started off towards the silent Rider. “Listen, if you’re going to insist on beating it into submission…”

The Rider kept on hitting the hammer down on the blade.

“Excuse me.”

Clang.

“Pardon.”

Clang.

Rina grabbed the Rider’s arm. “Hey!”

He spun on her, left hand grasping her throat. His eyes were alight with fury. He looked through Rina, towards some unseen enemy that was ready to kill or worse. The Rider raised his hammer, mouth a thin line clenched in determination.

“Hold!”

The Riders stopped. Carson’s mouth hung open, a joke suspended in midair. The other Riders stared straight ahead, focused on the walls.

The silent one kept the hammer raised. He looked at Rina with disgust. His hands quivered, caught between obeying his commands and his rage.

Harsk walked over. He plucked the hammer out of the man’s hand and examined the heft. He adjusted the grip, and smacked the Rider across the face with the handle. He spun to the ground, collapsing into the dirt and lay there, shaking.

“Forgive me,” Harsk said. Rina didn’t know who he was talking to.

“Are these boys all right to continue?” Harsk asked.

Rina nodded. They had the hang of it. With this much help she could get through all the needed work by tomorrow evening.

Harsk set the hammer down, and helped the Rider back up. “You were striking too hard,” Harsk said. “Keep the blows measured, constant. Trust the metal.”

He looked back at Rina. “Take a walk?”

Rina nodded.

She left the forge with Harsk and the woman. She felt awkward, a third wheel that was stuck on top of a bicycle. This was obviously a couple, and she needed to be elsewhere. Her forge was still going and she wasn’t there. It tore at the very core of her.

Nettie kept close by Harsk. She had barely spent any time with the man, with anyone. There was this thing growing inside of her, and if Glitterpass knew what it was they might have chosen death rather than let her walk the streets like she did now.

She liked Rina. The woman was kind, maybe even too kind. She was being trampled upon by these other blacksmiths, something she hated as much as she accepted it. She could do nothing but sympathize.

Harsk walked on. He sighed, and stretched. The air was cooling down. It was turning into a beautiful day.

“I’m sorry we are such a burden.”

Rina’s breath spluttered out. “A burden?”

Harsk shrugged.

“Harsk, sir…you and your Riders are, are saviors.” Rina spread her arms out. “There is not a person here who would not give you the clothes off their back, just for the chance that they might have come even close to thanking you.”

What was he not seeing?

Harsk looked back at the woman. He smiled, and nodded. “Then twice, my thanks. For being a kind host and granting us a measure of solace.”

Rina didn’t understand. It was doubtful she ever would. Harsk kept walking.

Rubble was finally pushed into manageable chunks. They’d soon be sanded down and broken apart. Then they’d be used again, or sold, or tossed away.

Harsk bent down at one particularly large pile and examined it. Great pieces of the wall, shattered. They could be used again. Probably stacked in the mayor’s new home, or building some new walls. Maybe even a statue to honor the conflict.

But there were pieces. Those that held holes within them, or were too fragile for anything but powder. They’d be ground down. Made to fit the grand scheme. Something that made sense.

Harsk never wanted his boys to feel like they had to fit. Just as much as he knew they were broken. Each and every one of them was broken far beyond repair. They clung to him and his laws because that was all they could rely upon. Trust in Harsk, and there will be good done in the world. You will have done good in the world. You wouldn’t be a monster for surviving these atrocities.

It was a burden. One he was happy to do. But this week, what Rina had done for them, that was priceless. She brought normalcy to the Ride. She had them working on their own tools with their own hands. Something that any man would be proud to call their own.

The Riders could act like men instead of warriors for a time.

Rina would wake up in two days and find her forge completely restocked. A sack of coin would be on the table, enough to hire on some permanent staff and expand the business down to the river. She could be the biggest name in Glitterpass.

It wasn’t close to showing how truly thankful the Ride was. But it was all they could do.

It had to be enough.