The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum - View Single Post - The Lonely Star -- Chapter 4

mark12_30 · 10-12-2002, 05:35 AM

ooc: ((...is it midmorning now? --Helen))

Gamba ran past the three tomb labyrinth entrances towards the Locks, stopped two turns prior to the guard's alcove and stashed the wrapped bread and raisins in a low little alcove just before a fork in the tunnel. The other path led to several abandoned iron mine tunnels, and more importantly, to the Smithy. There was a guard station at the fork.

The guard was asleep.

He ran up to the Locks, and handed out breakfast as quickly as he dared. Then he casually took a candle, and wandered off towards his usual nook to wait for lunchtime. But then he slipped around again, and returned to the Smithy, shielding his candle and slipping past the still-dozing guard.

Down a long, winding tunnel, he heard the bubbling of the underground stream directed there for quenching and tempering. It was quite noisy. There was the forge; indeed, no wood. He sighed. The Smithy looked particularly useless with the firepits cold and dead. Discouraged, he wandered into the old mines. He poked, wandered, and eplored. Here the digging had been abandoned when the veins had ended. No tools here.

He wandered back to the Smithy and wandered around near the anvils. He fished around, poking the candle into every shadow. And then he saw a rusty brown pile shoved out of the way. He knelt down, reaching way in, and inspected them, and his heart sank.

Tuka had described to Gamba what Meridoc had been working on, just before the fleet had sailed and the end had been called to weapon making. They weren't daggers, or knives, or swords; they were helmet visors and cheekpeices. The cheekpeices came to a point at the chin. Meridoc had dropped one on his foot. Apparently, his unfinished work had been shoved aside, and here it was, forgotten.

Gamba sighed, thinking of Meridoc, and picked them up. They were sized for a man, of course; the cheekpeices were about six or seven inches long. The visors were crescent-shaped.

A sudden noise made him jump, and withdraw, and shield his candle. When he peered back around, he sighed softly with relief. It was Phura.

They counted the peices. There were enough for a dozen helmets; thirty six peices of steel. "Better than we dreamed, " Phura said.

"Do we take them out?"

Phura considered that. "No. We sharpen them here, by the noisy stream, where the filings won't be noticed, and where they won't be discovered between now and then. But we're going to put them where we can find them, and maybe even sharpen them, in the dark, if we have to. "

They did, carefully. "Sharp ones will go under here, dull ones under here. Can you find them?" They extinguished their candles, and tried it, wondering how they would deal with the edges in the dark.

"How about edges always face to the left?"

"Good idea. Which side will we sharpen?"

They debated, discussing slitting throats and wrist angles, and settled on the inner curve. They lined them all up, inner curves to the left.

Slipping out of the Smithy was far easier, candle extinguished, than slipping in had been. Gamba still had a half hour before he had to serve lunch. He tucked the cloth full of raisins and bread into his waistband under his ragged shirt, and lay down as if he had been resting, and waited for the guard to call.

[ October 12, 2002: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

10-12-2002, 05:35 AM	#196
mark12_30 Stormdancer of Doom Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: Elvish singing is not a thing to miss, in June under the stars Posts: 4,349	ooc: ((...is it midmorning now? --Helen)) Gamba ran past the three tomb labyrinth entrances towards the Locks, stopped two turns prior to the guard's alcove and stashed the wrapped bread and raisins in a low little alcove just before a fork in the tunnel. The other path led to several abandoned iron mine tunnels, and more importantly, to the Smithy. There was a guard station at the fork. The guard was asleep. He ran up to the Locks, and handed out breakfast as quickly as he dared. Then he casually took a candle, and wandered off towards his usual nook to wait for lunchtime. But then he slipped around again, and returned to the Smithy, shielding his candle and slipping past the still-dozing guard. Down a long, winding tunnel, he heard the bubbling of the underground stream directed there for quenching and tempering. It was quite noisy. There was the forge; indeed, no wood. He sighed. The Smithy looked particularly useless with the firepits cold and dead. Discouraged, he wandered into the old mines. He poked, wandered, and eplored. Here the digging had been abandoned when the veins had ended. No tools here. He wandered back to the Smithy and wandered around near the anvils. He fished around, poking the candle into every shadow. And then he saw a rusty brown pile shoved out of the way. He knelt down, reaching way in, and inspected them, and his heart sank. Tuka had described to Gamba what Meridoc had been working on, just before the fleet had sailed and the end had been called to weapon making. They weren't daggers, or knives, or swords; they were helmet visors and cheekpeices. The cheekpeices came to a point at the chin. Meridoc had dropped one on his foot. Apparently, his unfinished work had been shoved aside, and here it was, forgotten. Gamba sighed, thinking of Meridoc, and picked them up. They were sized for a man, of course; the cheekpeices were about six or seven inches long. The visors were crescent-shaped. A sudden noise made him jump, and withdraw, and shield his candle. When he peered back around, he sighed softly with relief. It was Phura. They counted the peices. There were enough for a dozen helmets; thirty six peices of steel. "Better than we dreamed, " Phura said. "Do we take them out?" Phura considered that. "No. We sharpen them here, by the noisy stream, where the filings won't be noticed, and where they won't be discovered between now and then. But we're going to put them where we can find them, and maybe even sharpen them, in the dark, if we have to. " They did, carefully. "Sharp ones will go under here, dull ones under here. Can you find them?" They extinguished their candles, and tried it, wondering how they would deal with the edges in the dark. "How about edges always face to the left?" "Good idea. Which side will we sharpen?" They debated, discussing slitting throats and wrist angles, and settled on the inner curve. They lined them all up, inner curves to the left. Slipping out of the Smithy was far easier, candle extinguished, than slipping in had been. Gamba still had a half hour before he had to serve lunch. He tucked the cloth full of raisins and bread into his waistband under his ragged shirt, and lay down as if he had been resting, and waited for the guard to call. [ October 12, 2002: Message edited by: mark12_30 ] __________________ ...down to the water to see the elves dance and sing upon the midsummer's eve.