The next morning, Niall got up earlier than usual. By the time the rest of the family came downstairs, he had already completed all of his chores around the smallholding for the day. Even if he was now an apprentice, he did not intend to shirk his other responsibilities. Devon nodded with approval when he came down but, as was normally the case, he did not speak until his second mug of coffee.

That mug drunk down to the grounds, Devon stood up, stretched and gave Alana a kiss before looking over to Niall. “Right, let’s get to it.”

Niall jumped to his feet and the two of them headed out. He could not remember the last time that he had felt this excited at, well, going to work. Devon opened the door to the smithy and the two of them entered. There were a selection of hammers lying on a rack, Niall went over and picked one up. It was surprisingly heavy, but he tried not to show it as he struck a pose.

“So, what are we going to do? Start off with making a sword or something?”

Devon gently took the hammer out of Niall’s hands and carefully placed it back on the rack. “OK. Let’s be very clear. It is going to be a long time before I let you use one of those. When I said it would be months before you made a nail, I meant it.”

“What am I going to do then?”

Devon handed Niall a leather apron and a bucket. “Charcoal. Fetch”

Once Niall had filled the charcoal store, Devon assigned him similar grunt tasks: refilling the quenching barrel, cleaning rust from tools, sweeping up, and a myriad of other tasks. Niall did not complain. This was the deal and the proximity to Devon and the forge made it worthwhile.

Over the week, Devon assigned him new jobs, one of which was simply to watch Devon as he worked. Through hours of staring into the flames, he started to learn what Devon was looking for. The particular shade of yellow, orange or red of the metal, the sound that the fire would make when it deviated from the temperature that Devon needed.

After a couple of days Devon assigned Niall to the task of keeping the fire burning at the right temperature. At first Devon would have to shout to him when more fuel was required. However, Niall started to learn to anticipate when the metal would cool too far for Devon to be able to work it any further, and to ensure that the fire was at the required temperature as soon as Devon was ready to reheat the metal.

While he was not yet trusted to work the bellows, for larger pieces Niall worked the mechanical hammer. A beast of a tool on a pulley that Niall would have to pull up and hold for agonising moments, his muscles quivering, until Devon gave him the nod to let it come crashing down.

He quickly learned that being a blacksmith was not all about working with the forge. One of the more common jobs that came in was to shoe a horse. While Niall was not allowed to come near a horse with a hammer, nails and horseshoe, he learned how to keep them calm as Devon efficiently cleaned and cut away the old hoof before attaching the new shoe.

In fact, not all of Niall’s new jobs were even at the smithy. Niall was heading out to the forge one morning towards the end of the week when he realised that Devon was leading him round to a store at the side of the smithy. “What are we doing?” he asked.

“It’s market day,” Devon said.

“We need to go shopping?”

“What? No. I mean, maybe, but it’s market day.”

“Devon, you realise that just repeating things doesn’t mean that I know what you’re talking about, don’t you?”

“Market day means that a lot of people come into town. That means that they need us to use this.” Devon opened the door of the store and pointed at a stone wheel in a frame.

“Should I know what that is?”

“I’ll show you. But first, we need to get it into town.”

The two of them manhandled the contraption onto a hand cart. It was clear that Devon could have done it by himself if he needed to, but Niall appreciated being humoured. Once it was on, Niall followed Devon into town, pulling the handcart behind him. By the time they arrived, Niall was puffing and blowing and it took the last of his energy to help Devon to unload.

Niall wiped his brow and looked around. While he had seen it from a distance, he had not been into Raintor before. The cynical city dweller in him whispered that the best way to describe it was as quaint. The person that he was turning into fell in love with what he saw.

Raintor consisted mostly of wooden houses and shops. The square that they had stopped in was the exception to that with a stone inn on one side that was already doing a brisk business. Opposite it was a temple dedicated to a god that Niall had never heard of. A few other stone or wooden buildings made up the other sides of the square and consisted of a mixture of shops and houses.

The square itself was filled with a plethora of temporary market stalls, many sporting cheerful striped awnings in various colours. Despite being made of packed dirt, the streets were all clean and well maintained. Equally, all the people that he saw thronging around the stalls looked to be healthy and well fed. Niall was not sure what he had expected. In his head this was a mediaeval town and so he had expected dirt, poverty and sickness. That was very much not the case.

“Right, let’s get to it.” Niall was shaken from his contemplation by Devon’s words.

“Are you going to tell me what we’re doing now?”

“This.” Devon sat down at the wheel and gave a welcoming smile to the woman who approached. “Mother Flanagan, and how’s business at the moment?”

As the two exchanged small talk, the woman handed over a leather case full of knives, scissors and shears that ranged from ones that were as small as Niall’s little finger to others that had blades as long as his arm. Devon started to turn the handle on the side of the wheel and, as Niall watched, he began to sharpen the knives. When all the knives were sharpened, the woman handed over a few coins and was on her way with a smile.

Devon turned to Niall. “She’s the best leather worker in town.”

“We’re here to sharpen knives?”

“Not just knives. Shears, scythes, anything with a blade really. People bring in things that need a professional edge to them when they come into town. You’re here to learn how to do it.”

Devon stood and gestured for Niall to take his place. A small queue had started to form. As customers came up, Devon talked Niall through how to sharpen the knives. None of the customers seemed perturbed at Niall doing the work. At this stage Devon would take over if anything other than a knife came along. But those were few and far between. For most of the morning, Niall took the lead. It was peaceful work and Niall quickly dropped into a state of flow as he worked. The buzz of his wheel mingled with the happy hum of chatter and laughter from the customers. Those in turn bled into the sound of the hawkers calling from the market stalls. All in all it created a homely soundtrack to his day.

It was late morning when the initial flurry of customers started to slow. Most of those who came up were looking for knife sharpening. The continuous practice had made Niall get faster and more efficient as he worked, in fact he felt rather pleased with the new Sharpening Skill that he had gained. Devon watched with a critical eye as he finished sharpening a belt knife for a local potter. Devon gave a nod and then stood with a slap on his thighs.

“It looks like you’ve got the hang of that. I’m getting peckish. I’ll get us a couple of Master Fallon’s chicken and mushroom pasties. It would be a tragedy if he ran out before we got some. I’ve never been able to get the herbs balanced the way that he does. Are you going to be alright holding the fort for a while?”

Niall nodded and looked at the queue. “The next few people are just knives. I’ll be fine.”

“Good lad. Might see if I can scrounge us up a refreshing beverage as well.” With a clap on Niall’s shoulder, Devon headed off licking his lips.

Niall carried on working. Even though it was just a copper a time, he enjoyed being able to do something that actually earned some money. Since he had arrived, he had relied on Devon for everything, but he could now see how, if he had to, he could make a living going from town to town as a knife sharpener. As Niall handed the knife back to his next customer, he felt a shadow fall over him.

He looked up to see a man standing over him. He was taller and more muscular than most of the people in the town, his long blond hair tied back in a pony tail. Concerningly, he had a sword strapped to his waist. A sword was not something that Niall had seen before. While most people had some sort of knife, they carried them as tools rather than as a weapon. The most aggressive item that Niall had seen so far was an ornamental dagger, and that appeared to be more for fashion than use.

He did not have long to think about what that might mean before the man spoke. “So, you’re Devon’s new lackey?”

Niall stood up. “I’m his new apprentice if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Lackey. That’s what I said. So, what do you have that I don’t?”

Niall looked at him, confused. “Sorry? I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Well, lackey. Let’s see what you’ve got.” The man pulled out his sword and Niall flinched back.

The man stepped forward to close the distance between them and put the point of the sword against Niall’s chest. Even in that small movement, Niall could see that the man was faster than he was.

“This is my sword” the man said. “My father spent a lot of money to get it for me to use it when I’m on the front fighting the Bulvine. It’s very important to me that it’s sharp and undamaged. If you’re so good at smithing, why don’t you put an edge on it for me?”

Niall took another step back and held up his hands. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what the issue is, but I think you must have confused me with someone else. I can’t help with your sword. I’ve never done one before.”

The man took a piece of silver out of his belt pouch and threw it on the ground at Niall’s feet. “That’s OK. You’re going to learn. I’ve paid for it now so you have to do it. And, if you damage my sword, I’ll take it out of your skin. That sounds fair doesn’t it?”

Niall looked down at the point of the sword against his chest. The man pushed it a little further in and a spot of blood appeared on the front of Niall’s tunic. The pain of the small cut stung. Niall winced, but tried to stay calm. “I’m really sorry, I can’t help.”

The man slapped Niall on the arm with the flat of his blade. It was not a gentle tap and Niall yelped in pain. He had always shied away from violence in the past, not that his life had involved very much. Even when he was at school, Niall had never got into a fight. In fact, he had never been punched before. The closest he had got was accidentally walking into the corner of a cupboard at home. That had required him to have a long sit down on the sofa with an ice pack on his face. This hurt many times more.

“I don’t appreciate rudeness,” the man said. “It looks like I’ll need to teach you some manners.”

With that, the man started to repeatedly slap Niall with the flat of his blade. Niall tried to move out of the way but the man was fast and the blows kept coming. Niall could feel bruises forming all over his arms, legs and body. The man was not really trying to hurt him but, with Niall’s low Attributes, the blows were doing real damage.

To Niall’s own surprise, frustration and anger rather than fear started to build in him. His fist started to clench. His instinct was normally flight rather than fight. Now though, when he had been pushed into a corner, something started to build up inside him. A particularly hard blow sent him stumbling away and as Niall straightened, he threw a punch at the face of the man.

It was not a good punch. Wild. Telegraphed. Unskilled. However, the man was not expecting him to fight back. And, through luck rather than judgement, Niall had ended up putting his whole body behind the blow. To Niall’s disbelief, his hand connected with the man’s cheek. Niall barely had a second to enjoy his success before his hand exploded in pain from the punch.

The man staggered backwards. He put his hand to his face and looked, with surprise, at the drop of blood that stained his hand.

“How dare you?” The look on the man’s face turned from surprise to anger. He flung his sword away and leapt at Niall.

Before Niall could move, the man had thrown him to the ground. He straddled Niall and heavy blows pounded onto Niall’s face and body. Winded, all Niall could do was to curl up and cover his face with his arms to try to avoid the worst of the strikes. The hits kept coming and Niall could not block all of them. Pain started to overwhelm him. As more and more of the punches got through, Niall felt himself drifting into blackness.