“Can I help you, lad?” he asked with a thick Ceredigion accent.
“You’re not from Occitania,” Ransom said, switching to their shared language.
“Neither are you,” said the man brusquely. “You just arrived?”
“I did,” Ransom said.
“In need of a blacksmith?” He looked over Ransom’s shoulder at the net strapped to the palfrey.
“I am looking for one,” Ransom said. The rushing sensation he’d felt earlier was fading. In fact, it had completely stilled.
“Who are you?” the blacksmith asked, his eyes narrowing.
“My name is Ransom Barton.”
The blacksmith looked surprised. “You’re not the kid the king almost hung?”
Ransom smiled. “That was a long time ago.”
The blacksmith grinned back. “I served as a blacksmith at the palace. I worked for King Gervase. You don’t look familiar at all, but you’re not a child anymore. What are you doing outside Pree? There isn’t a tournament for a while still. You’re too early.”
Ransom couldn’t believe his change in fortune. He’d come here a stranger to everyone, and one of the first people he’d met was a man who’d served his king. It was as if that rushing sound had led him here. “I served Lord Kinghorn in Averanche. Can we talk inside?”
“Sure, sure. Let me tie your horse to something.” He grabbed an iron hook from a metal stand near the entrance and plunged it into the turf, using the hammer he still held to drive it in like a stake. Ransom tied the lead rope there, and the blacksmith opened the flap of the tent.
“Come in.” The innards of the pavilion were black with soot, and the fire blazing inside made sweat pop out on Ransom’s brow.
“What’s your name?” Ransom asked.
“Anders Scarbrow,” the man replied. Even though he was a wiry man, his arms were corded with muscles. But he didn’t look like any of the blacksmiths that Ransom had met, and he did not remember him from his time at the palace. “And what can I do for the King’s Ransom?”
“I need my armor repaired,” he said. “We just finished fighting the Brugians at Menonval. Lord Kinghorn dismissed me.”
“Why? Did you murder someone?”
“No. That wasn’t it at all. I had a rouncy that died during an ambush. The same ambush that ruined my armor.”
Anders nodded knowingly. “That explains a lot. It would have cost him too much to fix your armor and buy you a new horse.” He sighed. “That’s unfortunate. So what you are saying is you can’t afford to hire a blacksmith yourself.” The interest was quickly fading from the man’s eyes. “You’re not even a knight yet. Boy, I can’t—”
“I am a knight,” Ransom insisted, feeling a sense of panic. “Lord Kinghorn knighted all of us before the battle.”
“You have his badge?”
Ransom produced it from his pocket.
Anders sniffed and took it from him, examining it. “It’s real. But you could be a squire pretending to be a knight.” He gave Ransom an appraising look as he said it.
“I’m not lying. I wouldn’t do that.”
“Most men do,” said Anders with a sigh, “although the nobles here tend to take their honor more seriously. Had a knight refuse to pay me for a sword I had made for him. Word got out, and the knight was dragged in by the Black Prince himself and ordered to pay me what he owed, plus extra as punishment, or he’d be thrown out of camp as a thief. But even so, there’s a thousand ways men try to cheat me.”
“I’m not asking for a gift,” Ransom said, stepping forward. “I could work for you. I’m strong. Persistent. Give me the chance to earn the repairs before the next competition.”
Anders frowned, cocking his head to the side. “Fetch the armor. Let’s see how bad it is first.”
Ransom felt a throb of hope again. He hurried out and unhooked the net from the palfrey and hefted it onto his shoulder. He went in and set it down before kneeling and starting to loosen the fastening.
“You’re strong,” Anders said appreciatively. “No denying that.”
Ransom opened the net and pulled out the armor. Most of the pieces were battered and stained from the conflict. Ransom hadn’t even bothered to clean them yet.
Anders squatted down and looked at the damage the hook had caused. He scowled and shook his head. “It’s ruined,” he said. “I can’t fix that. It needs to be made over.” His eyes fixed on Ransom. “I’m sorry, lad.”