Protector Of The Grove (Book 2) (14 page)

A protective urge overtook her. Considering his parentage the little guy could have a tough life ahead. She suddenly felt bad holding him against her ragged and dirty armor. “Shouldn’t we wrap him in a blanket or something? Won’t he get cold?”

“Naw. We’re in the forge,” said Bettie. “Besides, he’s part dwarf and part orc. He’s tougher than any human kid.” She gave Tarah a measuring stare. “Say what’s with that nasty old armor you’re wearing?”

Tarah blinked. All of the usual snarky responses she had prepared were failing her with that baby in her arms. Instead she said. “My grampa Rolf made it for me. It’s part of my persona.”

“Your persona?” The half-orc wrinkled her nose. “What the hell’s it made of?”

“Moonrat leather,” she said.

“Everyone knows Tarah Woodblade wears moonrat armor,” Willum said. “That’s part of what makes her so mysterious.”

“Exactly,” Tarah agreed.

“You’re kidding me,” Bettie said in disbelief. “Moonrat skin’s way too thin. It’d make terrible leather.”

As if to prove his mother’s point, Jack grasped a frayed bit of the armor, and yanked on it, tearing a strip free. Tarah frowned and pulled the torn piece of leather from his hand before the baby could stuff it in his mouth. “It’s tougher than it looks. Rolf reinforced it with treated cloth. Even in this shape, it’ll stop a throwing dagger at ten paces.”

“Cow turds,” the half-orc said, shaking her head. “That stuff wouldn’t stop a sneeze. Not in the shape it’s in.”

“I’ll bet you a gold piece it stops it,” Tarah said. “Go on. Throw one.”

“You’re on!” said Bettie, grabbing a knife off the bench. “But give my son to Willum first.”

“I’ll hold him!” exclaimed Cletus, sticking out his long arms.

“You’ll give him to Willum,” Bettie said firmly. “Now follow me out back.”

Willum grimaced when Tarah placed Jack into his hesitant arms. As soon as the man touched the child, it started to cry. “I told you before, Bettie. Jack doesn’t like me.”

“He likes you just fine,” she said, pausing at the back door. “A Firegobbler’s always happiest when he’s yelling.”

Tarah followed Bettie out the back, where she saw that the half-orc had set up a small practice range, with three dummies set at varying distances. They all looked badly torn up, like they’d had a lot of use.

“You use these often?” Tarah asked.

“Ain’t much else to do when I’m not takin’ care of the baby. The other smiths that came in while I was gone handle most of the work. I practice with everything I make. Gotta be ready for when I get to the academy.” Bettie hefted the knife and threw it. The blade sunk into the nearest dummy, about five yards away. “You sure about this?”

“Tarah Woodblade’s always sure,” she said. “Where do you want me to stand?”

Bettie pursed her lips. “You’d better take the armor off and sit it on the dummy there,” she said, pointing to the one at mid-range.

Tarah started loosening the laces on her armor, glad that she had worn her thick shirt under it today. “It’s kind of cold out.”

“This’ll be over quick,” Bettie replied, grinning.

Tarah pulled the armor over her head, fighting off a gasp when the chill air hit her sweat dampened shirt. She sat it on top of the dummy and stood back, frowning. The moonrat armor really had seen better days. It hadn’t been in the best of shape before her plunge with Djeri into icy water and her ordeal with the smugglers had torn it up even worse. Still, she was confident it would hold up a bit longer.

“Ten paces, right?” Bettie pulled her knife out of the dummy and moved over to stand about that distance from Tarah’s armor.

“Ooh! I want to try,” said Cletus. Tarah hadn’t seen him exit the smithy. She looked up to find him sitting on the roof. He had his chain weapon out and was swinging it over his head.

“You wait yer turn. And get off my roof!” Bettie scowled and returned her focus to the armor. “Durn gnome.” Her hand darted forward and her blade flew true, thunking into the armor, before falling to the ground beneath it.

“See,” said Tarah a smile on her face despite her shivering. “It stopped your knife.”

 “No way,” Bettie said, walking up to the armor to inspect the damage. “I was cheating a bit too, ‘cause my blade was runed for sharpness.”

“There’s magic in the armor,” Willum said from the doorway, bobbing up and down to keep Jack from squalling. “It’s faint, but its there. Theodore senses it.”

“You’re kidding,” Bettie said. She lifted up the armor, looking closer. “The tip went right through the moonrat skin but only made a tiny hole in the backing. If you were wearing it, you’d probably have little more than a pinprick.”

“Told you,” Tarah said. “But I think you’re wrong about there being magic in the armor. I watched Rolf make it. The backing’s just cloth and his special resin.” 

“Alright,” Bettie said, giving her a hungry look. “You’re gonna have to show me how he did it.”

“Well, he laid out the leather and glued pieces of cloth to it in layers, you know with his resin between each one,” Tarah explained. “Then he-.”

“Move on outta the way, Willum!” yelled Lenny and the graduate stepped aside. “Check it out, ladies. We fixed Djeri’s armor trouble!”

Djeri walked out wearing a gleaming work of art. It was a full suit of platemail, polished to a high sheen and with red runes carved into every piece. In the center of the breastplate was an oval of red iron with a golden ‘F’ emblazoned in the center. Djeri held a matching helmet under his arm and Tarah saw a smaller version of the symbol affixed to the forehead.

“Ooh. Shiny!” Cletus said, jumping down from the roof to get a closer look.

“Whaddya think?” Lenny said with a wide grin as the gnome leaned in, sniffing at the runes in the metal. “He’s a dag-gum beauty, ain’t he? All I had to do is tighten the straps a little and the suit fit him tight as a gall-durn clam.”

“You shouldn’t be giving that armor away!” Bettie griped.

“It’s mine to give,” Lenny replied with a scowl. “And since you won’t let me go along with ‘em, this is my way of helpin’! ‘Sides, you know how much I don’t like wearin’ the thing.”

Djeri sighed. “Maybe she’s right, Uncle Lenui. This is your suit. It’s legendary. You should keep it for people to rally behind.” He traced his finger over the golden ‘F’ on the breastplate. “I feel guilty wearing this anyway. You know I’m not a Firegobbler.”

“The hell you ain’t!” said Lenny with a growl. “Yer momma’s my dag-gum sister, ain’t she? Sure, yer daddy’s half Cragstalker, but he ain’t never acted like one. Listen. I done seen you in battle, son, and I’ll tell you what. Yer full-blooded Firegobbler far as I’m concerned.”

Djeri’s face reddened as he fought back a smile. It was obvious his uncle’s praise meant a lot to him. “Still, this is the armor of the Hero of Thunder Gap.”

“Shut up about that crap,” Lenny said. “Just tell me, son. How does it feel?”

Djeri’s grin came out in full. “It feels really good. I gotta say this is the most comfortable plate armor I’ve ever worn.”

“Ha!” Lenny said. “Told you! On top of that, it’ll absorb near any blow it gets. It’ll also keep you from gettin’ cold even without dag-burned winter padding.”

Djeri rotated his shoulders, causing the metal to squeak. “I don’t know, though. It’s pretty loud. A little extra padding in the right places would improve it.”

Lenny snorted. “Okay, smart-arse. You go on in and show me what you want done.”

As they went back in, Tarah walked over to Bettie. “I need my armor back now. It’s freezing out here.”

Bettie wrinkled her nose. “You don’t wanna go and put that thing back on.”

“Yes I do,” she said grabbing it. But Bettie wouldn’t let go. “Give it back I mean it. And don’t forget you owe me a gold piece.”

Bettie gave her a thoughtful look. “How about I do you one better? Come, follow me inside.”

She let go of Tarah’s armor, and headed back into the smithy. Bettie opened the door Lenny had disappeared into with Djeri earlier and ushered Tarah inside. It was a nice sized room with a small dining table and two chairs in the center, a fireplace to the side, and a workbench on the other end. There was one more door at the back.

“This is our house,” Bettie said, closing the door behind her. “Coal thought I was crazy when I told him I wanted my house attached to the smithy, but I told him the sound of clanging metal soothes me. Hell, my son’s the same way. When he can’t sleep I bring him out into the forge and make something. Puts him right out.”

“I think it’s cozy,” Tarah replied. “But why did you bring me back here.”

Bettie rubbed the back of her neck and turned away. “Well, I’ve been thinking. I feel bad about keeping my boys from going off with you.” She raised a finger. “I stand by what I did, now. But I can’t just let you run off to rescue that rogue without doing my own part to help.”

“So what do you want to do?” Tarah said. She lifted her armor and stuck her arms inside, preparing to lift it over her head.

“Uh, wait on that,” Bettie said. “See, here’s the thing. I wanted to get that armor off you for a reason. It’s friggin’ terrible.” Tarah opened her mouth to launch a retort, but Bettie raised her hand. “I know your grampa made it and I know it’s supposed to be all imposing and everything, but you need to face it. Its time is done. Besides, it stands out. If word reaches the smugglers that someone with thrashed moonrat armor’s on the march they’ll know Tarah Woodblade is coming.”

Tarah seriously doubted her armor stood out near as much as Djeri’s. She eyed the half-orc with suspicion. What was Bettie’s angle? “What’re you saying? You gonna sell me another set?”

“Come over to my workbench.” Bettie led her to the far end of the room where the bench stood. She pulled a thick wooden chest out from under it. “Now what I’m about to show you is something I’ve been working on in secret. Only Lenui knows about it and that’s just because he’s a nosy dirt-eater.”

She opened the chest and pulled out a beautiful suit of leather armor. It was made of green hardened leather with deep brown shoulder pauldrons and a matching pair of reinforced leather greaves. There was intricate runework all along the seams and on each strap. There were also several pouches and tie loops attached in different places for easy storage.

“It’s . . . beautiful,” Tarah breathed. In fact it was likely the most well made leather armor she’d seen. The colors were perfect for forest work as well. It was definitely better than anything the other Sampo Guidesmen had.

“Yeah it is,” Bettie agreed. “And the weirdest thing is, soon as I saw you in the lodge I thought, why this is the first girl I seen that’s just about my size.”

“You designed this for yourself?” Tarah said.

“Sure. I’m heading off to the Battle Academy in another week or so. They’re gonna make me forgemaster so I figured I gotta have a suit of armor of my own. It took every last bit of the leather Coal had magicked for me to make it. It’s runed to make it durn near as tough as the stuff you been wearing. Plus it’ll repel water, keep you from getting too cold or too hot and I added another feature,” she grinned as she spoke, quite proud of this next part. “It’s self healing.”

“You mean-,” Tarah scoffed. “If it’s damaged, it’ll repair itself.”

“Yeah!” Betty beamed. “Leastways for most stuff. If it got a real bad tear it might not be able to, but for like an arrow hole or scuffs and minor cuts or whatnot, it’ll look new as ever in just a short while.”

“I love it,” Tarah said, her eyes going wide. “I think I’m in love with a piece of leather. How much?”

“Here’s the thing,” Bettie said, her smile fading. She gave Tarah a pensive look. “You could never afford it. I mean it’s mostly made of bronto-skin. Very rare stuff. And magicked leather is hard to come by. Plus I’m a master leatherworker, so-.”

“I might surprise you. How much?” Tarah asked. It was true she was spending a big chunk of the gold she’d hoarded on hiring the academy, but since they weren’t able to provide enough men, the fee had gone down. She had a good amount left and for something like this, she might be willing to spend it all.

Bettie tugged at her bottom lip. “I don’t want to sell this for gold. I want a trade.”

Tarah didn’t like the tone in her voice. “What do you want?”

“I want your grampa’s recipe for that armor he made you,” she said.

Tarah swallowed.

“Think of the applications for this stuff,” she said, her yellow eyes hungry. “If I brought this to the academy with me, we could make leather armor near as good as plate or even reinforce scalemail or whatever, not to mention rope, bridles, anything that we could strengthen.”

“My grampa used to say stuff like that,” Tarah replied. His eyes had been filled with that same fervor. “But no one ever believed him.” She didn’t add that his reputation had been too badly damaged by the time he found the recipe. “He died without ever selling it.”

Bettie’s fervor faded. “So his recipe died with him?”

Tarah pondered what to tell her. Grampa Rolf’s recipe was the last thing of his she had. Then again, it wasn’t going to do her any good hidden away. She knew what he would say.

The only bad gold is not enough gold
.

“I thought so at first,” she said, making her decision. “But Djeri and I found it hidden in his bedpost of all places. I have it in my pack. Along with a bottle of the most rare ingredient.”