Artorious stood over the fire with tongs in his hands. Pherris was moving the huge bellow up and down making the fire as hot as dragon breath. It still terrified him but its the only way to get the iron hot enough. The Jor knew that, that is why they are the best. Pherris was born with a hammer in his hand and even if he could be a bit clumsy, dammit that boy knew how to temper iron.
"Now!" he says.
I pull the iron out of the fire and put it on the anvil. Pherris is right there with the hammer. After a few devistating blows I move the chunk back into the fire. Tired, sweaty and covered in soot I quickly pull the tongs out of the fire and into ice cold water. The steam burns. Again I am reminded of those massive beasts. Even with all the heat a familiar shiver goes down my spine.
I pull the now cooler iron out of the water. It is a huge piece of iron. Almost enough to make a half dozen swords and some shields. But who's hands will these weapons go into?
"Pherris, I need some charcoal and paper. I have an idea."
Pherris looks over my shoulder,
"What is that?"
"It's a shield."
"HA!" he laughs, "That'll never work. The shape's all wrong and it's too small."
I roll my eyes,
"It will work, boy."
"It will not, old man. Besides no one in the Legion will want it." said Pherris condecendingly.
"It's not for the Legion."
He looks at me with a confused, scrouched face. I laugh, "You'll see."