The barmaid snuggled close and looked into his eyes.
“Oh, sir. Do you really think so?” she asked coyly.
Moorgoth smiled and stood up. “I am off to bed, Theros Ironfeld. I hope you change your mind and decide to join Moorgoth’s raiders. Perhaps I’ll stop by tomorrow and we can have another little chat.” With that, he turned and left.
The barmaid stood and began clearing the dishes and mugs from the table. She took them to the kitchen, then went over to the bartender. The two whispered back and forth for a few moments, and a few coins were passed to the man.
She returned to Theros’s table and picked up his now-empty mug. Leaning forward, she let her hair fall softly across Theros’s face and whispered in his ear. “Meet me upstairs in Room Two in half an hour.”
She turned and took the mug away.
Theros’s heart pounded. He had admired the barmaid for a long time. Now, he was being admired in turn. He was no longer just the town smith.
He went upstairs.
He found the room without any problem, even in the poorly lit corridor. The candles in their sconces illuminated the number on the brass door. He hesitated in front of the door, then opened it without knocking. He quickly looked around. No one was in the room.
The bed was large enough for two, and there was a desk and chair standing in the corner. Next to the door stood a small table with a washbasin and a full jug of water. Beside the basin sat a razor. A small hand towel hung from a peg in the wall. It was definitely a comfortable room.
Theros gingerly tried the bed. It was soft. A down quilt covered the straw bedding, neatly hiding the scratchy stalks below the cloth. Sheets and a blanket covered the quilt.
He lay back on the bed and shut his eyes. He felt like a man of destiny today. He had been invited to join up with an army. He had refused, but the memory of old times made him wonder what its objectives were, how many men and what sort of equipment it had. He was thinking about this when the door opened.
The barmaid slid in and shut the door behind her. She came over and sat next to Theros on the bed.
She put her hands on Theros’s chest and looked down into his eyes. “My name is Marissa.”
Theros started to tell her what his name was, but she stopped his words with a kiss. He put his arms around her and brought her close.
Marissa pulled back from him, ran her hands through his curly, short black hair. “I know your name. And I’m sorry I never noticed you before, Theros Ironfeld,” she said softly, breathlessly.
Reaching into the bodice of her dress, she drew out three gold pieces and handed them to Theros.
“What’s this for?” he asked in astonishment.
“You overpaid me for the meal,” she answered, smiling.
“But-”
Marissa kissed him again. There was no more talk about money. Nor did she once mention the notion that he should join Moorgoth’s raiders.
The night was one Theros would never forget.
Chapter 16
Theros awoke when the sun hit him in the eyes and he looked around, not recognizing his surroundings. Then the last evening and his liaison with Marissa came back to him swiftly.
He lay back down in the bed, noticing that she was gone. He could still smell her perfume on the sheets. The sun was yet level with his window, meaning that it was early. He didn’t have to leave at once. Perhaps Marissa would come back.
Today would be a good one for Theros. He would go to his work, start that new shield he’d promised to one of Moorgoth’s men. Now that the army was planning to march, Theros would undoubtedly have as much work as he could manage in the next few days. He’d work long hours, but he’d charge more for the extra time. Then he’d visit the Jeweler’s Guild, buy one of those jewels Marissa thought were so lovely.
Marissa. Last night had been the first night Theros had not slept alone since he had arrived in Sanction seven years ago. Women had glanced his way on more than one occasion, but he’d never done much to encourage them to do more than look. He didn’t know how to talk to women, who seemed to expect a man to talk about things like moonlight and roses. The only thing Theros knew about moonlight was that it permitted night marching. Women never seemed the least bit interested in talking about the things he liked to talk about-the best stone to use for sharpening swords, how to make fine quality steel.
Not until he’d met Marissa. Last night, they’d talked and talked, and not about moonlight, either.
He rose, rinsed his face in the basin, and shaved. Dressing, he went down the stairs to the pub. Breakfast was being served.
He looked around to see if he could find Marissa. She was nowhere in sight. Theros ordered a plate of eggs and bread, with tarbean tea and a piece of apple for his meal. He ordered an apple cider to wash it down.
After his meal, he went back out onto the street, walked to his shop. Yuri was there already, opening the shutters. Yuri was a good worker, skilled in tooling and sewing leather. He was not strong enough to make a smith, but he could do all of the odd jobs that Theros didn’t have time to do-leatherwork, arrow and spearhead making, armor work. Yuri was young, but he caught on quickly.
Sometime, perhaps, Theros would tell Yuri that. Then Theros thought of Hran and his training. Praise gives a person a swelled head. Better to keep Yuri in line. He’d learn faster.
Arriving at the smithy, Theros was not surprised to find one of Moorgoth’s men loitering about the street in front of the smithy, obviously waiting for the smith to open for business.
Theros gave the man a nod, unlocked the latch, opened the big doors. He went inside and started to heat up the forge. The guardsman stepped inside. He was holding a sword in his hand. Theros, eyeing the weapon, was quick to spot the notched blade.
“Yuri!” Theros bellowed. “Get in here!”
The young man was in the back room, where he slept. He ran into the smithy, looking fearful, as if there were a fire, or-worse-he had forgotten to do something. “What is it, sir? The accounts are in order. I counted them down myself this morning! I-Oh! Hello, sir.” Yuri flushed. He was supposed to watch for customers. “What can we do for you today?”
“Look at this blade!” the guardsman said in disgust. “Can you believe it? Just for hitting a blasted dwarf over the head. Sure, he had on a steel helm, but still! I paid good money for this sword in Flotsam. I expected better. Moorgoth sent me to you. Can you mend it, Master Ironfeld?”
Theros smiled. So Moorgoth was sending his men over here. That was excellent! “Certainly. Put the blade on that table. I’ll have it ready for you tonight.”
“Fine. Moorgoth said to send the bill to him.”
Theros nodded. He’d make it double what he would have charged anyone else.
The guardsman left the forge. Yuri took the sword, placing it on the table. Theros went back to his work, heating up the fire, when he noticed that Yuri was wasting time, staring at the sword.
“In Sargas’s name, what are you doing, boy? Haven’t you ever seen a sword before?”
“Not one like this, sir,” said Yuri. “It’s got funny little marks all over the blade.”
“Bah!” Theros snorted. “That’s the problem, then. Let this be a lesson to you. Engraving a blade is well and good, but if you don’t know what you’re doing, you ruin the blade’s effectiveness. Now get back to those gloves you’re stitching.”
Yuri ran off, giving the sword a last parting glance.
Theros, now curious, left the fire to itself and went over to examine the weapon.
The marks on the blade were, as Yuri had said, curious. Theros had expected them to be Solamnic in nature, for the knights were forever putting family crests, roses, kingfishers and every other heraldic symbol they could find upon their weapons.
But this.… Theros turned the blade this way and that and finally made out what the “marks” were supposed to represent.