A beautiful metallic note rings across the plaza, joining others still hanging in the the air. Like clockwork the next one joins them, a measured beat, as if someone were conducting an orchestra inside the tiny shop on the corner. The sounds of a smith hard at work filled the morning as Gratus raised his hammer and brought it down again and again. Shaping the metal gave him purpose. It gave him peace.
In metalwork he could drowned out his own thoughts and fears, letting the song of his craft take over and clear his mind. An angled blow would curve the metal ever so slightly, and that in itself would produce a slightly different tone then an overhead swing. The tap of his hammer could correct a minor dent and produce a longer, higher pitched note. The breath of the bellows and the hiss of hot steel cooling in the troth would add percussion and character to the music, and all together the sounds would carry him away from his troubles.
At least that is how it normally went. Today, however, didn't seem like normal. So much had changed in his peaceful, simple life, and in such a short period of time. Jhinn's sister had returned. He found out the man had been missing for years, and he never knew it. That still stung deep inside. Once more someone under his command suffered because of his failures. Yet another member of his company, perhaps the last one still living, might pass from this life without his aide. And where was Gratus when he was needed?
Beating metal at the forge. Crafting weapons and armor for greater men then himself. Men who could charge into the heat of battle and come out the other side unscathed. Men who could bring their soldiers home alive.
Who was he kidding, Jhinn was safer if Gratus just stayed in the forge. Let Alexander save him, at least then the Highlander wouldn't be responsible for his death.
That thought caused a growl of fury, and without thought, his hammer came down once more. Far to much power was in that blow. Heated metal was malleable, but brittle. It needed just the right touch to be shaped and molded, and his rage had exceeded that need. The blade he was forging snapped in half, hot metal falling to the floor of the shop where it smoldered and smoked in the dirt.
He sent the hammer skidding across the anvil with a cry of frustration. Here lay the proof of his efforts. The fruits of his endeavor, a husk of a sword, broken and useless. Was this Jhinn's fate as well?
In metalwork he could drowned out his own thoughts and fears, letting the song of his craft take over and clear his mind. An angled blow would curve the metal ever so slightly, and that in itself would produce a slightly different tone then an overhead swing. The tap of his hammer could correct a minor dent and produce a longer, higher pitched note. The breath of the bellows and the hiss of hot steel cooling in the troth would add percussion and character to the music, and all together the sounds would carry him away from his troubles.
At least that is how it normally went. Today, however, didn't seem like normal. So much had changed in his peaceful, simple life, and in such a short period of time. Jhinn's sister had returned. He found out the man had been missing for years, and he never knew it. That still stung deep inside. Once more someone under his command suffered because of his failures. Yet another member of his company, perhaps the last one still living, might pass from this life without his aide. And where was Gratus when he was needed?
Beating metal at the forge. Crafting weapons and armor for greater men then himself. Men who could charge into the heat of battle and come out the other side unscathed. Men who could bring their soldiers home alive.
Who was he kidding, Jhinn was safer if Gratus just stayed in the forge. Let Alexander save him, at least then the Highlander wouldn't be responsible for his death.
That thought caused a growl of fury, and without thought, his hammer came down once more. Far to much power was in that blow. Heated metal was malleable, but brittle. It needed just the right touch to be shaped and molded, and his rage had exceeded that need. The blade he was forging snapped in half, hot metal falling to the floor of the shop where it smoldered and smoked in the dirt.
He sent the hammer skidding across the anvil with a cry of frustration. Here lay the proof of his efforts. The fruits of his endeavor, a husk of a sword, broken and useless. Was this Jhinn's fate as well?
