Did I mention the bit where Kieran nodded?
Back inside the warm stable, Kieran paused in front of the anvil he had seen earlier and waited for his eyes to readjust to the dim interior. The anvil looked to be a portable anvil, rather than a shop anvil. That was good; he preferred to work outside in the natural light. Kneeling next to the anvil, he rocked it back and forth, both to get a feel for how heavy it actually was, and to work it loose from the ground it was sitting on. Then he rose back to his feet, planted them on either side of the anvil and cautiously lifted it with a grunt. It felt to be about eighty pounds.
He waddled outside and set the anvil down next to the door, then went to retrieve a stool he had sat on earlier. It had held his weight solidly, so he reckoned it could support the anvil. At last he had things where he wanted them, and went to work. He took out a flat stick with charcoal marks on it that he had used to measure the size of Arcus’ foot, and held it next to the horseshoe he intended to shape. Then he started shaping.
The first few hammer blows got some startled looks from both the knights and their horses, but they settled down quickly once they realized what the sound was and where it came from. Gripping the horseshoe in his tongs, he would drape it over the anvil’s horn and hammer on one arm, then the other of the shoe. He hammered inside-out, to make the shoe wider, since Arcus had such a large foot. Without the softening effects of forge-fire, the cold iron shoe was reluctant to alter its shape, but it eventually yielded to the farrier’s persistence. Kieran almost had the shoe right when he recalled something.
Putting hammer and shoe down, he went into the inn, nodding briefly to Cemel as he looked for the innkeeper. ”I need some hot water, just a small cup” he said when he had found the man. Seeing some tankards hanging over the bar, he pointed. ”One of those would be perfect.”
”Those are for regulars,” the innkeeper responded.
Kieran rolled his eyes impatiently. Either the proprietor thought he was being funny, or he was really was just dull. The deserter didn’t have time for either. ”Doesn’t need to be one of those specifically,” he insisted: ”Just something like them.”
A few trills later, the farrier walked hastily back out to the innyard, rapidly passing a steaming hot cup back and forth between burning hands while grimacing and breathing in and out sharply. The bastard had given the hot water in a cup with no handle. It took all of Kieran’s willpower not to break into a run. When he set the cup down at last, he blew on his hands. Several of the Lightning Knights watched him with obvious amusement, and he bit back his resentment with difficulty. He got the impression that Arcus was watching him, too.
Ignoring his audience, Kieran rummaged into his toolbelt and pulled out an oblong lump of some translucent, amber-colored material, which he tied with a piece of string and then dipped into the hot water, leaving it there like a steeping teabag as he went back to shaping the horseshoe. By the time he had finished hammering, the cup was giving off a smell like fresh-cut pine. Kieran was testing the rosin with his fingers when Cemel emerged from the inn and came up to him. ”Done yet, Wilfred?” he asked. ”What’s the damage?”
The rosin had softened, but not quite enough yet to use, so the farrier dropped it back into the hot water. ”Horse’s foot is uninjured,” he told the Lightning Knight, ”but the hoof is torn. He’ll be fine to walk once I’m done, but I wouldn’t ride him for a while.”
”Can’t ride with us, you say?” came another voice. This was Brachland. The Partisan looked expectantly at both Cemel and Kieran. The farrier shook his head. ”He’d come up lame for real before you got there, most like,” he said. Kieran waited apprehensively. He wasn’t sure yet whether this knight was the sort to shoot a messenger.
Fortunately, he wasn’t, although he clearly wasn’t delighted by the news. He scowled and scratched his cheek for several trills, in thought. ”I can stay here at the inn until you send back another horse,” suggested Cemel. Brachland snorted.
”Oh ho! I bet you’d like that. No, you’re not staying here swilling mead for the next three trials. You’re still going to Rharne. Just slower. Wyril!” he shouted, not realizing the knight was standing right behind him.
”Yes, sir?”
”There you are! You and Cemel are now a detachment. His horse can walk but not ride. You and Cemel are to walk behind us at your own pace the rest of the way to Rharne. Report to me after morning mess tomorrow.”
”Yes, sir!” answered the two knights in chorus.
Brachland stepped away from them and shouted: ”Everybody else, gear up and mount! Then head out and wait for me on the road.”
The innyard clattered and clanked as Lightning Knights mounted their coursers and steered them over the cobbles towards the exit. After watching them with a satisfied look, Brachland walked over to his own horse. He had just put his foot in the stirrup when he remembered something. He turned and walked towards Kieran. ”I suppose you should be paid -what was your name again, son?”
”Wilfred,” Kieran answered promptly. He was getting too good at this, the deserter thought. Would he even remember his name after a while? he wondered. For that matter, would Kieran even really be his name after a while?
Before he could spend much time with these musings, Brachland counted out some nels and offered them to him. ”That enough, Wilfred?” the Partisan asked. The farrier looked at the coins. It was actually a good offer, better than he had been expecting. He nodded.
”Yes, thank you, sir,” he said.
”Right! You’re a good man, Wilfred. Maybe we’ll meet again. The Lightning Knights always need someone trusty to take care of their horses. I’ll be seeing *you* two tomorrow. Ha!” Without awaiting a response, he sprang onto his horse and followed the other Lightning Knights out of the innyard.
After he had left, Kieran headed back to check the rosin in the hot water, decided it was finally soft enough. ”Cemel, sir -Defender Cemel,” he said, ”I need you to hold your horse one last time. We’re almost done here.”
Pointedly ignoring Wyril, the farrier took the warm, dripping lump over to the horse. Taking hold of the left front hoof, he cut a hunk of the rosin off and began to work it into the rent in the horse’s hoof wall with the flat of the hoof knife. He heard a sniffing sound. ”Smells like retsina,” commented Cemel.
”It’s the same stuff: pine resin.” Kieran answered. He lowered the hoof. ”It’ll harden in a couple bits, then I’ll put the shoe on. Then you’re good to go.” He turned towards the stable, then turned back quickly. ”I’m gonna put that anvil back into the stable. I’ll be right back.” Cemel nodded. Wyril frowned. Kieran nodded back at the former and ignored the latter.
By the time he came back and re-checked the hoof, the rosin had already cooled and hardened noticeably. ”Close enough,” Kieran muttered.
Wyril came over and peered at the patch suspiciously. ”That stuff safe for the horse?” he asked.
Kieran nodded. ”Some horses don’t like the smell, but apart from that, it’s harmless. It hardens and sticks to the hoof. Forms a patch until the hoof wall has time to grow back.”
Not wanting to continue the conversation with the ill-mannered knight, Kieran pointedly took the shoe that moment and started nailing it into place. Wyril harumphed and walked back towards his own horse. Cemel looked at the hoof just before Kieran lowered Arcus’ hoof for the last time. ”That’s a worn shoe,” he said.
”All I had. It’ll last you to Rharne, but you’ll want to replace it as soon as you get there.”
Cemel patted Arcus’ neck. ”We’ll take care of him good, won’t we? Well, Wilfred, I supposed this is farewell. Keep up the good work. Let’s go, Wyril!”
The Defender started to mount Arcus and stopped himself. Grumbling, he started walking it out of the yard. Wyril, seated on his own horse, scowled at the deserter. ”You’d better not have done shoddy work, farrier,” he said warningly. ”Be sure that our farrier will be taking a look at it and let us know.”
Kieran peered up at the knight. ”Maybe I’ll get to Rharne some day and ask him myself,” he answered. Wyril made an annoyed noise through his nose and turned his horse around, walking alongside Cemel and Arcus.
And maybe you and me will meet face to face in a tavern, he thought as he watched the Lightning Knight’s back, where there won’t be any horses to upset.
