Under the Oak Tree - Chapter 198
Chapter 198: Side Story Chapter 4
The smithy was bustling with activity despite the early hour. Riftan was baffled; the place seemed much busier than usual. One of the blacksmiths looked up from the slab he was hammering as Riftan walked in.
“Finally decided to show up, have you?” The man gave him a once-over with his beady eyes and scowled disapprovingly. “You look fine for someone who was bedridden.”
“I only came right this morning.”
The blacksmith snorted loudly. “We’ve no use for weaklings.”
Riftan swallowed the retort that was on the tip of his tongue. Though he was out of the sickbed, he had only just recovered. He did not want to be hit in the head while it was still throbbing. The blacksmith glared at him before pointing to a mountain of sacks piled against the wall.
“We’ve got our hands full, what with the royal knights arriving last night. I’m letting you off the hook this time. But make no mistake, if we weren’t so shorthanded, I’d be kicking you out right now.”
How generous of you.
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Riftan inwardly scoffed before returning to his tasks. True to the blacksmith’s words, there was indeed a mountain of work to be done. Armor, swords, iron maces, axes, spears, and shields needed repairing, while an order for hundreds of arrowheads had to be fulfilled.
Adding to the chaos was the incredible noise from the hammering of hundreds of horseshoes. They were to be fitted onto the legions of military steeds. The smithy was so swamped that the blacksmiths, who had previously only given Riftan menial chores, finally assigned him his first forging jobs.
“You know how to make a horseshoe by now, don’t you? You’ve been here for months. I’ll give you a sample to make sure you don’t blow it.”
Unbelievable. The man had hardly taught him anything. Pushing his incredulity aside, Riftan began pounding on the iron without a word of complaint. It just so happened that he knew the steps from peeking past the blacksmiths’ shoulders whenever he could.
After heating iron on the burning coke, he began to shape it with a hammer. Still, knowledge through observation and making it himself were entirely different things. Shaping iron turned out to be more difficult than he thought. Through countless trial and error, he ended up with four horseshoes.
The blacksmith examined their size, thickness, and sturdiness before tossing them into the basket of finished items. It meant that he had passed. With that, Riftan was free to start making more.
Having only just recovered from the venom, hammering until he was drenched and his shoulder burned was nothing short of hellish. Even so, Riftan kept at it. He knew that any slack on his part would give the blacksmith an excuse to launch into another tirade.
When he finally managed to fill the basket with horseshoes, he hoisted them onto his shoulder and headed for the stables. The path took him through the forest, where the castle’s annex came into view. His steps slowed. The urge proved to be too great, and he found himself walking in the direction of the building.
Taking such a roundabout way while hauling a basket of heavy metal felt like a fool’s errand, but he had to see for himself that the girl was all right. He slowed as he approached the annex and carefully scanned the garden. The little girl was crouched in front of a flower bed, scraping the dirt with a twig.
The relief he felt at seeing her well was short-lived. His heart sank when he noticed her downcast, pale gray eyes. Could it be that she was waiting for her dog to come back? Her round eyes glanced around before fixing despondently back on the dirt. Riftan watched her do this several times before he sped past.
Stop worrying about her. Not unless you want any more trouble.
He pushed the image of the lonely girl from his mind and sprinted to the stable. Once there, he found that even the company of the adorable foals he had not seen in a while did nothing to help his mood.
After methodically changing the horses’ shoes, he returned to the forge and began hammering once more. The work continued without reprieve until sunset when the blacksmiths put away their tools.
“You can go once you’ve tidied up,” one of the blacksmiths barked at him.
Riftan swept together the ash and dust strewn over the floor and scrubbed at scorch marks until everyone left for the day. As he was heading home, he accidentally kicked something. He looked down to find a bent horseshoe. Its surface was rough and unfinished; it was likely one of the defective items that had been tossed aside. As he bent down to pluck it off the floor, an idea came to him.
He fiddled with the horseshoe and glanced back at the anvil.
The smithy was finally tidy, and he was on the brink of collapse from taxing his just-recovered body. It would be a hundred times smarter for him to avoid any unnecessary work. He knew he should head home to catch up on as much sleep as possible.
Despite these reasonable arguments racing through his head, he found himself walking over to light the brazier. He stepped on the bellows several times to fan the flames. After heating the bent horseshoe, he began hammering it with the last of his strength. His arm and shoulder throbbed.
Riftan’s brows furrowed with the effort, but he kept at it until the horseshoe flattened into an iron bar. He then used the other tools to clumsily shape the metal into a crown. When it was done, it was painfully obvious that the final product did not reflect the time he had put in.
Riftan sighed as he inspected the lumpy iron circlet. He shoved it into his pocket.
Some crown.
It had been a complete waste of his evening. Cursing himself, he hurriedly left the castle grounds.
It was later than he usually finished. The hill was shrouded in darkness, and he picked his way down to avoid tripping over any rocks. As he neared his family’s shack, he caught the faint aroma of food.
Riftan clutched his empty stomach and stepped inside. His mother, seated by a flickering lamp next to the wall, jerked her head up in surprise. Taken aback by her overreaction, Riftan froze in the doorway. His mother looked dazed for a moment before rushing to her feet.
“Y-You’re late. Why don’t you rest while I heat supper?”
She tucked her messy hair behind her ears and walked over to the brazier. Riftan studied her with a perplexed expression. This restlessness was new for her. Had she been worried about him when he had not come home? Feeling slightly bashful, Riftan approached the table.
“What about Father?” he asked.
“He… isn’t back yet,” his mother muttered in a low voice as she stirred the pot.
Riftan let out a small sigh, his face pulling into a disgruntled frown. The man was likely getting drunk at the village tavern. Being inebriated was his stepfather’s only pleasure in life.
It was not that Riftan could not understand. After all, what man in his right mind would want to rush home to a wife who treated him like a stranger despite a decade of marriage, and a dark-skinned child that was not even his?
After devouring a bowl of porridge, Riftan wiped his face with a wet towel and sprawled, utterly exhausted, over the hay on the bed.
“How are you feeling?” said his mother, who had been silently watching him.
This attention from her was new as well, and Riftan found himself feeling bashful again. He made a curt reply about feeling completely better before rolling over to face the wall.
His mother seemed to hesitate before pulling the blanket over his shoulder. Tears sprang in his eyes at her cautious touch. As his eyelids grew heavy, he mused that being sick once in a while was not so bad.
***
Another busy day awaited the next morning. Beginning at dawn, Riftan darted around the sweltering workshop that was now practically a steamer pot. All of the blacksmiths were on edge from the pressure of having to complete all the weapons repairs before the royal knights departed.
Riftan was trying his best to complete his list of menial tasks without getting on anyone’s nerves when a head of lush red curls caught his eye. He froze and stood blinking like a simpleton, clutching an armful of firewood. Peeking into the smithy from behind the door was the duke’s daughter.
What the hell is she doing here?
His eyes narrowed to slits as he peered back, then glanced outside. There was not a chaperone in sight. He grew still when he realized this. The smithy was located a good distance away from the annex; had she come all the way by herself?
Riftan dropped the firewood next to the furnace and began striding to the entrance. What were they thinking, letting her wander alone after what had happened only a few days ago? Were they out of their minds? Was she not supposed to have a chaperone wherever she went?
Before he could reach her and launch into a lecture, however, one of the blacksmiths grabbed his arm.
“Ignore her. You know you’re not supposed to speak to nobility first.”
“But this place is too dangerous for a child!”
“That’s for her nursemaid to worry about,” the blacksmith said gruffly as he shoved Riftan back. “We just do our job! Don’t you dare stir trouble with unnecessary heroics.”
Riftan glowered back. He could sense the others glaring at him in annoyance, clearly all in agreement with the blacksmith. Everyone was acting as if they could not see her despite her presence being very obvious.
The blacksmith swung his fist around threateningly when Riftan refused to budge. “Did you not hear me, boy? I said, don’t bother. Get back to work!”
Riftan reluctantly returned to his tasks. As he hammered away, however, he could not stop constantly glancing at the door. The girl peered about the smithy, her large gray eyes bright with curiosity.
What’s she looking for?
He kept an anxious eye on her. There were too many things in here that could be dangerous for a child. Weapons were stacked into great piles, sparks flew from all directions, and the air inside was hazy with smoke.
Suddenly, their eyes met. The girl looked startled and ducked behind the door. Riftan stifled a laugh when he realized her dress and red curls were still visible.
Is she even trying to hide?
He was shaking his head when the girl poked her head out and looked right at him. As soon as their eyes met, she ducked back once more. The third time she peered around the edge of the door, Riftan furrowed his brow.
Had she come looking for him? Perhaps she had wanted to ask him why he had not yet brought back her dog. The thought pricked his conscience, and he tore his gaze away. He could not bring himself to tell her that he had buried the hound. Pretending to be hard at work, Riftan began hammering a little louder than usual.
There was no telling how long he kept up the act. By the time he glanced at the entrance, the little girl was gone. He assumed she must have given up and returned to the annex. Riftan bit his lip at the uneasy thought that she had gone back alone.
Riftan took some empty sacks to make it seem like he was going to fetch more supplies. When he went to get the handcart stationed next to the workshop, he noticed something unusual in his periphery.
Resting against the window was a wreath made of colorful summer flowers. Riftan blinked vacantly at it before picking it up. He stared at it for a moment, then glanced around. Not far away, the little girl silently watched him from behind a tree.
Did she leave it here on purpose?
After a brief pause, he placed the wreath back down. As soon as he pretended to leave with the cart, the little girl began skipping up and down in dismay. Riftan had to suppress his laughter as he picked the wreath back up.
