Bladshire 12
By David C. Daoust
Khadory awoke early, his mind still on the week before. He struggled to wrap his mind around the fact that Braidon was no longer living with them in the Abbey. He was instead living in the castle. It really wasn’t so far off; raised high, Lyonsette Keep was on the skyline of every village in the area. Khadory could only imagine what Braidon’s day may be like. What he might be doing instead of his usual chores. He considered Chantilles, haunted by some unimaginable entity. Is or was? Khadory was not sure which. Brommus told him to keep an eye out for her; make sure she was okay.
The boy would have to admit that most of that day was a day off, despite having spent his morning grumbling about having to do double chores. Ultimately, all he did was stand in place most of the day. The thought amused, but he had other things on his mind– other responsibilities.
On this day, Khadory’s responsibilities involved helping the woodcutters out among the trees. This was a chore he had asked for. An experience he showed interest in for years, almost begging Agnolo the Woodcutter to allow him to tag along.
Finally, the old Overseer agreed. Agnolo felt Khadory was old enough, strong enough maybe– Khadory liked to think so, but he also knew most heavy felling happened in the winter. They were definitely doing some heavy felling. He didn’t know why they would be doing it in the sixth month, but whatever the reason, the old man finally agreed to take him, so Khadory was there in the wood, with the woodcutters, and he could not be happier.
The boy oversaw a pair of oxen; harnessed, yoked– everything. The woodcutters had felled and quartered a tree the day before. It was up to him to get the massive logs up onto the cart while the woodcutters worked on the next one. This meant he had to remove the oxen from the cart, so he could instead strap them to one of the logs.
The large behemoths were actually quite peaceful. ‘Gentle giants’ fit pretty good. So good, he thought witnessing these animals might be exactly where that saying came from. The oxen were strong but could be stubborn. Khadory felt like he had a way with them though. When he was younger, he’d led such animals in the fields. Admittedly, the man behind the plow did much of the work, he just guided the oxen forward.
Once he managed to release the animals from the cart, he needed to get them strapped to the log. He’d learned the right method a long time ago, mostly to prove he would be a value to the woodcutters. He made short work of it, double checked the leather straps bound around the beam secured snuggly to massive animals’ horns. Khadory then guided the beasts as they dragged the log behind. The cart was narrow enough that they could continue forward to either side, hauling the slightly raised end of the log up into position. Until the full log rest solidly on the cart.
There were three more logs to go, a morning’s worth of work at the very least.
The problem—the small group of men that had received word of an old-pine stump buried in the tall grass not twenty feet from his work area. This was of interest because it looked as though it had been in there for a while; pine resin tended to build up in such stumps, making fatwood. This one had plenty of time to become the very thing they were interested in— a source of pitch.
Pitch was used for waterproofing everything from roofs and barrels to waterskins and flasks. An old stump like this would give quite a bit more resin than the norm. Such a find was a prize.
The separate group of villagers had travelled out, mattocks and razor-sharp axes in hand, mostly because the woodcutters were, clearly, already busy. These were older men, silver haired elders. Most of separate trades, some artisans that could trust their own work to an apprentice as they headed out to collect the unexpected resource.
All the live long morning these artisans planned to chop and hack away, digging the old wood up out of the earth. Such jobs were not normal, not in Bladeshire Village. Settlements near pine forests and probably close enough to the sea to have shipwright nearby, may have a serious operation to precure this much tar. Not so with villages landlocked, surrounded by ancient woodlands. Most of Bladeshire’s pitch was made on demand, with resin and ash. Or bought from town if the need arose. Performing this process was rare. About as rare as finding a pine tree among the broadleaf that made up the Darwood. Khadory was expected just to keep working? Of course he was! But he wanted to know more about their project.
He was confident the next three logs would end up on the cart just as easy as the first. He took the time to ingratiate himself among the elders, learn what he could from the men chopping at the old stump. Plenty of them were more than happy to share what they knew…
By the time he got back to the second log, he had a pretty good grasp on the idea. They would chop the fatwood up into pretty small slats– stand them in a kiln so, once it was fired up, the resin would drip fluidly. A deep kiln; old’man Hindal described it like a well, dug right into the ground. Mostly covered to maintain a slow burn; burning too quick would spoil the whole process.
And um… the pitch would drip from the wood down into a pipe between the kiln and a pit. The pit was sealed tight, lest the tar combust. Khadory couldn’t really wrap his head around the pipe between the kiln and a basin.
Once the oxen got that second log firmly in place, he wandered back to the elders with more questions. If it was all buried in the ground– how were they getting it out of there? He failed to picture it, instead hinted that, maybe, he was interested in joining them for the next part of the process. They assured him it would be a solid fourteen hours before the kiln was hot enough to even include the slats…
It was around this time Agnolo found only two logs loaded on the cart. The old woodcutter looked pretty disappointed. Khadory flushed a bit and hightailed it back to his own job.
Trying to finish the work quickly led to frustration, the animals picked up on it and became stubborn. Khadory was getting worried the woodcutters might not invite him out the next time, even as he did the math in his head to figure when that kiln might be ready to load. Fourteen hours or no, it would probably be held off ‘til early the next morning.
Khadory had just gotten log number three unstrapped, when log number four suddenly slammed down onto the pile, and then slid forward til it sat snuggly on the narrow cart.
Amazed, Khadory made his way back around. He found a Baeldhori standing behind the cart. Wide chest, huge arms, a big grey beard hung to his waist. It had just, single handedly, loaded the last massive log onto the cart.
Agnolo was chuckling as he slapped the Baeldhori’s shoulder in thanks. “Looks like you got lucky on that last one, lad,” Agnolo said to Khadory.
“Always happy to help a young’un like yerself!” The undersized giantkin said with a smile.
“Yeah, okay…” Khadory was amused at the attention. “I’ll take it.”
The Baeldhori’s intervention worked out pretty well; the other woodcutters might even be impressed with Khadory’s work, despite spending most of the morning with the elders chopping at that stump.
“Tharnan’s my name,” the Baeldhori said as he extended a massive hand.
“Khadory,” the boy said back as his hand was engulphed, completely, as the two shook hands.
“Oh, a friend of the hills,” Tharnan said cryptically. “I like that.”
A Baeldhori was a rare sight. This one was probably from Hammer’s Rest. A small hill dwarf settlement, a couple days north of Bladeshire. This was not the first ancient Khadory had seen, but they had never actually interacted with him in the past.
“I’ve been sent to collect,” Tharnan said grimly to Agnolo, “That wood’ll help us get started. The sooner the better– I’m sure your baron’ll be happy.”
“We planned to slice it up for‘ya at the sawmill,” Agnolo offered up; in case the dwarf was interested in waiting.
“None to worry about that, we can handle it from here,” the dwarf said simply.
“Khadory’ll be okay to lead the cart…” Agnolo assigned him with a nod, then asked, “How far is it?”
Khadory nodded back and quickly got to work strapping the oxen back in place at the head of the cart.
“Not too far…” the dwarf said as he moved to help Khadory reattach the oxen to the wood laden cart. “I think you all like to call it Redcap Creep… near there.”
Khadory almost forgot that he planned to take the cart down around where the women were working once he got the logs loaded. It would have been the long way to the sawmill, but it would have allowed him to check in on Chantilles. ‘Keeping an eye out,’ as requested from Brommus. He did not think the Baeldhori would be interested in a detour though, so he kept his mouth shut. He would simply check in on her later.