The forge door was ajar as always, in a desperate bid for more air. Sherred was beating an iron bar into the shape of a scythe blade when Eored slipped through the gap. The smith’s begrimed face broke into a broad smile at the sight of his customer and friend.
“What brings you here today? More nails, I’m guessing.”
Eored beamed. “You’re wide of the mark, Sherred. I have a commission for you.”
“Oh, aye, no point in beating my poor brain like an iron from the forge.” He laid his tongs on the workbench and sat on the anvil, waving at a wooden chest for the wheelwright to sit, too. “There are so many things I could make that it’d take all day to list them and even then, I might not guess what you’re after.”
Eored laughed but secretly admitted that the smith wasn’t bragging, because the ren
