Page 4

Chapter 3

I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, staring at the stubborn piece of iron that refused to cooperate. I’d been up nearly all night, finishing the mending for Lady Hargrave, and now, with Elias off at school, I thought I’d get an early start in the forge.

But this was no needle and thread, and no amount of determination could change the fact that I was out of my depth. The metal on the anvil seemed to mock me, holding its shape with the same resistance I’d felt all morning.

I pumped the bellows again, coaxing the flames to life, but the fire in the forge flickered weakly, as if it, too, was as tired as I was. My muscles ached, and the weight of the sleepless night was catching up with me. Maybe last night’s burst of inspiration had been driven by nostalgia and sweet rolls rather than anything real. What was I even doing out here?

Just as I was about to give up and set the hammer down, a familiar voice called out from the open doorway.

“What in the Seven are you doing in here?”

I turned to see Thyri standing there, a basket balanced on her hip, her brow arched in confusion.

“Trying to figure out how these things work,” I replied, gesturing vaguely to the tools scattered around the forge.

“Why?” she asked slowly.

“Why not?” I retorted. “I’ve got this whole forge at my disposal, and it’s time I put it to use again.”

Thyri stepped inside, setting the basket on the workbench next to the mended dresses. “You didn’t even like being in here when Kald was alive,” she pointed out. “Remember how you used to complain about the heat? And how he smelled like smoke when he came home?”

I tugged at the front of my shirt, hoping for a breath of cooler air, watching Thyri gather her curls in one hand, lifting them off her neck. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I love mending clothes for spoiled rich kids, either.”

Thyri snorted. “Point taken. But smithing?” she asked, sounding genuinely concerned. “It's surprising, I guess. It's just not like you.”

“Maybe not,” I admitted. “But at least this… this feels like I’m trying to build something that’s mine. Something I can pass down to Elias.”

Thyri’s expression softened as she folded her arms, leaning against the workbench. “You’ve been up all night, haven’t you? The dresses are done?”

“Finished them a few hours ago,” I said, nodding toward the neatly folded garments. “But honestly, if I have to spend one more day mending clothes for Lady Hargrave, I might lose my mind.”

“You sure you haven’t already lost it?”

I laughed, though it was more out of exhaustion than humor. “Honestly, I might have. But I figure if I’m going to lose it, it's better to do it trying something new than sticking with the same old misery.”

“Fair enough,” Thyri said. “Let’s see what you’ve got, then.”

I picked up the hammer again, this time with a little more confidence. But as I tried to lift it over my head, it quickly became clear that confidence wasn’t enough. The hammer swung down, nearly pulling me along with it.

Thyri burst into laughter. “You’re going to need more than enthusiasm. Didn’t Kald work under Master Ironsmith? Maybe you could talk to him about an apprenticeship?”

I paused, considering her suggestion. Thorne Ironsmith was the most renowned blacksmith in Everwood, and Kald had trained under him for years. But I had never been particularly fond of him. He always seemed… cold. Distant. The man hadn’t even offered his condolences after Kald’s death, never once checked on me or Elias. Instead, he’d just carried on as if Kald had never existed. That didn’t exactly fill me with the confidence to ask him for anything now.

“I don’t know, Thyri,” I said, chewing on my bottom lip. “He’s never exactly gone out of his way to be helpful.”

Thyri raised an eyebrow. “You sure? Maybe you just have to ask.”

Maybe Thyri was right. Thorne was a man of few words and even fewer displays of warmth, but if I was serious about this, I needed to at least consider every option, even if that meant swallowing my pride and facing Thorne.

“It’s worth a shot, I guess,” I finally conceded.

Thyri nodded, satisfied with her suggestion. “See? You’ll be hammering circles around everyone in no time.”

As she reached for the basket of mended dresses and hoisted it onto her hip, I tugged off my apron and gloves, tossing them onto the workbench. My hair was falling into my eyes, so I slid the goggles up onto my head to hold it back.

“I’ll walk with you as far as the Artisan’s Quarter,” I said, heading toward the door. “I’m eager to get started, and I’ve only got a few hours before Elias comes home.”

Thyri adjusted the basket and followed me outside, the cool morning air a relief after the stifling forge. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“I have to be,” I said, my tone firm, even if doubt still lingered underneath.

There were easier paths I could take—mending, odd jobs—but those would only keep us afloat. This was different. This was my chance to take control, to shape something for the future, something that was ours.

We walked in comfortable silence, the city alive with the midday bustle. Shopkeepers were busy tending to their stalls beneath the wooden awnings, their voices mingling with the clatter of carts and the chatter of customers filling the cobbled streets.

As Thyri and I reached the edge of the Artisan’s Quarter, the streets grew livelier, bustling with tradespeople, apprentices, and merchants unloading their wares. Colorful banners fluttered from shop fronts, displaying the guild crests of blacksmiths, weavers, and stonecutters. The familiar clatter of carts, the murmur of conversations in various languages, and the distant clang of hammers striking metal blended into the steady rhythm of Everwood’s day. A gnome scurried past us, arms laden with scrolls, while a dwarven jeweler rearranged a display of gleaming bracelets. Nearby, an alchemist carefully unwrapped a crate of shimmering vials, their contents glowing faintly as he examined them.

Thyri shifted the basket on her hip and gave me a quick, reassuring smile. “Good luck, Sor.”

“Thanks,” I replied. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

With a final wave, Thyri turned and headed toward Lady Hargrave’s estate at the far end of the Riverside District, her steps light and confident as she weaved through the crowd.

Taking a deep breath, I adjusted the goggles on my head, hoping they made me look more official, and made my way toward Master Ironsmith’s forge. It wasn’t hard to find—his was one of the largest and most established in the quarter.

The forge was bustling with activity, vibrant and chaotic. The air was thick with the scent of hot metal and the rhythmic clang of hammers striking anvils. Apprentices of different races—humans, halflings, and a tall elf with intricate runes glowing faintly along his arms—moved back and forth, carrying materials and stoking fires with the aid of subtle magic, while a gnome tinkered with a complex mechanism in one corner. There was even an orc in the back, haggling with a dwarven supplier over the price of enchanted ingots.

Of all the sights in the forge, that one surprised me the most. Orcs had traditionally kept to themselves in the mountains, though I’d heard of a few settling into towns after the end of the war. They had fought and died for Alderwilde, and now more of them were beginning to integrate into the communities they had helped protect.

This orc was huge, with broad shoulders and muscles that strained against the dark leather apron strapped across his chest. His green skin glistened faintly in the forge's firelight, and the deep lines of his face, sharp jaw, and dark beard made him look as if he were carved from stone—strong, unyielding, and timeless. There was something undeniably magnetic about him. Something powerful.

And very, very hard to look away from.

But now wasn't the time for such distractions.

Steeling myself, I approached the main entrance, where Thorne stood overseeing his apprentices. He was a stout man with arms thick from years of swinging a hammer, his once-dark hair now streaked with silver. The deep lines around his mouth and eyes gave him a perpetually stern expression. As I grew nearer, his sharp eyes flicked toward me, and for just a moment, I thought I saw a flash of surprise there.

“Master Ironsmith,” I called out, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Mrs. Ashford,” he acknowledged curtly. “This is a surprise. What brings you here?”

“I was hoping I could speak with you about something… important,” I began, trying to find the right words.

Thorne glanced at the work being done around him before focusing back on me. “Of course,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

I hesitated, my fingers fiddling with the hem of my sleeve. “Well, you know, the forge has been empty since Kald… well, since he’s been gone,” I started, feeling the awkwardness creep into my voice. “And I was thinking…”

His expression softened, and to my surprise, a hint of understanding flickered in his eyes. “Ah,” he said, nodding slowly. “Yes, of course, I should have thought of this sooner. I’ve been meaning to reach out. I’m sorry I didn’t offer assistance earlier.”

I blinked, not expecting that. “Oh, yes, um, well, thank you.”

“Of course, of course,” Thorne interrupted, glancing over his shoulder. “Tom! Come over here, lad.”

A young apprentice swaggered over, wiping his hands on his already dirty apron. He was tall and lanky, with a cocky grin. He didn’t bother hiding the way his eyes swept over me, sizing me up.

“Tom,” Thorne said, clapping the apprentice on the back, “this is Mrs. Ashford. Her husband was Kald Ashford, the blacksmith who passed in the war.”

Tom nodded, and it was my turn to size him up. His wiry build and soft hands did nothing to suggest he had any real experience behind him. What was Thorne thinking? To apprentice me to this kid?

“Well,” Thorne continued, “Tom here has been looking for space to rent. Somewhere he can really get his own work going. And your forge might be just the place. A perfect arrangement—he can handle the heavy lifting and keep things running.”

My eyes snapped to Thorne. “Wait—what?”

But the kid, Tom, was already making plans. “Yeah, I could put that old forge to good use. Probably needs a bit of a revamp, though,” he added with a casual shrug. “Maybe some upgrades to keep up with the times.”

“No,” I said firmly, cutting them both off before the conversation spiraled further out of my control. “That’s not why I’m here.”

Thorne and Tom both blinked at me, surprised by the edge in my voice.

“I’m not looking to rent out the forge,” I continued. “I wanted, well, I thought maybe I could… I mean, I want to learn. To take up the craft, you know? Get the forge running again... myself.”

Thorne’s eyebrows rose slightly, confusion flickering in his eyes as he tried to make sense of what I was saying. “Yourself?” he repeated back at me.

I nodded.

Tom let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “You?” He exchanged a glance with Thorne, then shook his head, clearly amused. “You’re serious?”

“Yes,” I said, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “I know it’s not what anyone would expect, but I already have everything I need. Except, well, a teacher.”

Thorne let out a small, patronizing chuckle. “Blacksmithing is no simple task. It’s grueling work, requiring strength and skill that… well, let’s just say it’s not exactly suited to someone like you.”

Someone like me? A woman, I guessed. I forced myself to stand my ground. “I know it’s hard work, but I’m ready for that. I’m willing to put in the effort.”

Tom snickered, clearly enjoying the exchange. Thorne glanced at him, then back at me, his smile widening slightly as if he were about to indulge a child in a harmless fantasy.

“Mrs. Ashford,” he said slowly, “I understand you want to do something productive, something to fill your time, but blacksmithing isn’t for everyone. It’s not just the physical demands—though trust me, that alone would be enough to make most people think twice. It’s a man’s trade. One steeped in tradition, passed down from father to son, from master to apprentice. It’s not something you just… pick up because you want a project.”

The other apprentices, overhearing the conversation, began to murmur among themselves, their voices tinged with laughter.

I clenched my hands at my sides, my pulse quickening. What did they know about me? About what I’d been through? What I’d done to survive since the war tore everything apart?

He didn’t know about the sleepless nights, how I’d kept Elias fed and sheltered on my own. He didn’t know how much I had already given up, how much I still stood to lose if I didn’t find something more.

Who was he to tell me no? Well… he was the guildmaster, wasn’t he? Of course, he had that right. But that didn’t mean I had to accept it quietly. That didn’t mean he was right about me.

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t be given a chance,” I insisted, keeping steady even as heat rose in my cheeks.

“What’s she gonna do? Knit the iron into shape?” another man chimed in, eliciting a chorus of chuckles.

Thorne didn’t bother to reprimand them. Instead, he looked at me with equal parts amusement and pity. “I think it’s best you stick to what you know—sewing and mending. Leave the heavy lifting to those who are more suited to it.”

His words hit me like a blow, the finality in his tone crushing the small spark of hope I’d carried with me. The apprentices laughed openly now, mocking and dismissive.

Before I could muster a response, another voice cut through the laughter, deep and commanding. “That’s enough.”

The apprentices immediately fell silent, their laughter dying in their throats. I turned to see who had spoken and found myself staring up at the orc I’d noticed earlier. Up close, I saw that a scar cut across one of his eyes, a jagged line that gave him a rough, battle-worn look. His tusks, shorter than I thought they'd be, peeked out from beneath his lower lip. He was standing too close, towering over me with a broad chest and thick arms that made me feel about half my size.

And maybe a little breathless.

He stepped forward, his gaze shifting from the apprentices to Thorne, then finally resting on me. “Let her learn,” he said, his tone firm and deep.

For a moment, I could only stare at him. His presence was overwhelming—raw strength and something darker, a dangerous edge that wasn’t entirely unappealing. I swallowed, trying to regain my composure.

The orc’s gaze didn’t waver, and after a tense moment, Thorne sighed and shook his head. “Vorgath, this isn’t—”

“I said,” the orc—Vorgath—interrupted with undeniable authority, “let her.”

Thorne’s face reddened, and he took a step forward, the tension between them thickening the air. “This isn’t up for discussion. Need I remind you—again—that you are a guest in my forge?”

Vorgath gave an approximation of a smirk, baring his tusks. “I see you, Thorne. First, an orc outdoes you, and now, you’re worried a woman might show you up, too.”

The master’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white. The apprentices exchanged uneasy glances, caught between their loyalty to him and the sheer force of Vorgath’s presence. The tension between the two men was thick and suffocating, and I shrank back, feeling like I was caught between a hammer and an anvil.

“Watch your tongue, orc ,” Thorne hissed. “You may be skilled, but don’t forget your place. Everwood is my home, and I won’t have you—or anyone else—stirring up trouble.”

Thorne’s gaze flicked to me. Instinctively, I stepped back again, only to collide with something solid and unyielding.

Before I could react, a heavy hand landed on my shoulder. I froze, every muscle tensing as I realized I had backed right into the orc—into Vorgath. His grip was firm, his big, green fingers curling around my shoulder. It was like standing against a wall of stone, yet there was a gentleness to his touch, startling and unexpected. His presence was overwhelming, his hand large enough to engulf my entire shoulder, and yet, instead of feeling crushed or confined, I felt… protected.

It was disorienting, the sudden sense of safety beneath a hand that could easily break me. I had braced myself for rejection, for another blow to my already fragile resolve, but Vorgath’s hand on my shoulder kept me steady.

“Everwood is my home, too,” Vorgath said, his voice low and steady. “And maybe it is time I took on my own apprentice.”

Was he talking about me? The shock scrambled my thoughts, excitement warring with doubt. Orcs were known for being solitary and fierce, not the kind you’d expect to offer help. And my own prejudices had me wondering… was it even safe? Could I trust him to teach me, to be patient with my mistakes, to understand why I needed this so badly?

But before I could process it all, Thorne let out a sharp, mocking laugh. The apprentices followed suit, their laughter echoing through the forge as if the very idea was ridiculous.

“Sure, Vorgath,” Thorne sneered. “Take her on. Teach her what you can. I’m sure she’ll last all of a day.”

Determination flared within me, fueled by the laughter around me. Maybe this wasn’t what I had planned, but it was a chance—a real chance—to prove myself.

“Actually,” I said, raising my voice to cut through the noise, “I think I will take you up on that offer, Master...”

The orc glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “Just call me Vorgath,” he said

The laughter faltered, the forge falling into an uneasy silence as all eyes turned to me. Thorne’s smug smile faded, replaced with a look of genuine surprise. Vorgath’s hand still rested on my shoulder, warm and solid, and I drew strength from it as I faced Thorne.

“I’m serious,” I continued, holding my ground. “And if Vorgath is willing to teach me, then I’m willing to learn.”

For a moment, no one spoke, the tension hanging thick in the air. Then Vorgath’s hand squeezed my shoulder gently, a silent acknowledgment, before he released me and stepped forward, standing between me and Thorne.

“It’s settled, then,” Vorgath said, his voice cutting through the silence. “You’ll start tomorrow.”