The Sword and the Flame: The Forging

by CP Bialois

  “Watch your step, Narsa!” The second brother caught the other when he began to fall, both making enough noise to wake the dead.

  Narsa, the stronger of the two, gripped his brother so tight it would’ve broken the bones of another race when he caught himself. “Think it better to leave in daylight?”

  Kruge, the smarter of the two and the originator of their plan, shook his head. “Berek leave soon. We must be ready.” After a quick motion from him, Narsa turned and continued towards the end of camp.

  This was their moment to avenge their fallen comrade and to please their master. As they decided before, it’d be best to ambush the fighter and the cleric. They would ensure the cleric’s quick death and keep him from healing Berek. Their master and benefactor would reward them for removing such a pest as the human was proving to be. Neither of them could wait to dip their fingers in his blood and devour his heart while it continued to beat.

  Galin sat unnoticed by the two as they made their way towards the end of the camp. Galin set down his smithing hammer he’d taken to carrying with him over the years for protection. Funny thing was, Galin didn’t notice that he picked it up, it was a reflexive action. Though he was certain they weren’t after him, one could never be too careful. He was certain his pipe would’ve alerted them when they passed, but he figured even the distinctive smell of tobacco couldn’t overpower the stench of Ogre.

  Galin held the pipe out, eying it lovingly having carved it out of a piece of hardwood several years earlier. It’d been his first attempt at making one and as far as he was concerned, it couldn’t have been done any better. If those two had been anyone else, or if they’d come for him, he might well be dead by now. “It’ll take more than those two to do me in like that.” Galin placed the pipe back in his mouth and continued puffing on it in thought. After a moment he shook his head, it wasn’t his fight.

  *****

  Closing his eyes and the small book he kept in his breast pocket, Gilliam began praying to Fallor. It‘d been a difficult and trying day but he could feel the end draw nearer. He’d been able to break through Berek’s hard exterior and exorcized some of the young man’s demons exorcized in the light of truth. Try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to think of his nephew as a black soul. He believed the young man was corrupted, but it wasn’t his soul that was in danger, he could see that now, it was his life. Gilliam always suspected his brother was a cruel man, he thought as much when they were children when he killed squirrels daily with his slingshot. For as long as he could remember, it amazed him no one else thought it strange for a young boy to take so much delight in the needless death of his fellow creatures. But Gilliam saw it just as he also noticed his brother’s glee at causing pain. Therefore Berek was corrupted as a punishment, not on himself, but on his father. Gilliam couldn’t save his older brother, spiritually or physically, but he could help his nephew.

  Gilliam concluded his prayer, asking for justice for his brother Saul and forgiveness for his own misdeeds. Though his intention was just, he let his beliefs cloud his judgment by allowing himself to condemn his nephew for abilities neither of them understood. He could only guess at what Saul did, but he would not allow his judgment to be impaired further. For the first time since he took on the robes of a cleric, he committed the spells all clerics carried to memory. The book only held the most basic of clerical spells to heal, defend, and turn. Each one floated off the paper as he read them, filling him with such a feeling of comfort he never felt. He was ready, armed with his faith and the spells granted to him by Fallor. Calmly, he found himself wondering if Berek felt the same way before entering the arena.

  Of course he doesn’t, was Gilliam’s first thought. His nephew may have been a stranger to him until that afternoon, but he knew Berek didn’t like the killing that took place. Berek tolerated it, that much Gilliam saw in the young man after each of his fights. After the carnage left in his wake none that ever saw his face could mistake it for anything but sorrow.

  Gilliam lifted himself to his feet, his prayers finished and his faith reinforced. Though that night would most likely prove to be a waste of time, he would stand at Berek’s side and hesitate to aide him no more. Ready, Gilliam straightened his robes and turned to leave just as Renard entered his tent.

  “Pardon the interruption, but I wonder where you’re planning to go tonight. Surely, Berek has informed you of my orders.” Though it wasn’t a question Renard locked his hard gaze on the cleric’s eyes.

  Gilliam, to his credit, didn’t flinch and returned the hard look instead. “I’m aware of no orders. As for where I intend to go, that is my business. I’m a cleric of Fallor, not a slave that must report to you.”

  Renard’s look remained. “You may not belong to me, but it’s advisable to inform me of your leaving. We wouldn’t want any misunderstandings over you taking one of my slaves do we?” The flush rising in Gilliam’s face made Renard smile. “As for orders, I instructed the young man not to get himself killed doing something stupid. Dying with a bandit’s sword in your back is no way for a man of his abilities to die. No honor.” Renard’s tone softened yet remained hard. “I know it may not seem so, but I care for him as I do for everyone here. I give them more freedom than others in my standing. Do you disagree?”

  Gilliam wanted to say something, if to achieve nothing more than to denounce Renard as a tyrant but he couldn’t. Renard hadn’t been lying, at least as far as he could tell. Renard smiled as if he could read the cleric’s thoughts. “There are some groups in my camp that want him dead. If he continues to leave on his own, I can’t help him.”

  Gilliam now understood he was being maneuvered for a purpose he didn’t yet understand. He assumed Renard wanted Berek to remain in camp, possibly for one of those groups Renard just mentioned. Gilliam changed his demeanor, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “If you want to know, I’m going to Hope to see some old friends. I finished treating the wounded from this evening’s fights and my other robe is covered in blood.”

  Renard watched Gilliam with a trained eye. He could tell if someone was lying to him but his gift failed him then. The cleric seemed so damn sincere that he couldn’t be sure. Fech told him the cleric hadn’t joined the fight with the bandits until it was all but decided. Everything he’d been told and witnessed contradicted each other. Renard wanted to believe he was lying, that Gillian wouldn’t be with his nephew for another attack. In the end, Renard decided following his instincts would be wise and smiled, “Very well Gilliam, I trust you’ll have a safe journey.”

  Gilliam’s stoic face remained despite the relief surging through him. “Thank you, I’m certain it will prove quite dull.” With a final nod Renard stepped out of the tent and headed back to his pavilion. When he was alone, Gilliam let out a deep breath and rubbed sweat from his brow. He wasn’t sure if he outsmarted himself or Renard, the one thing he was certain of was that everything about that day felt queer to him. After a moment he took a deep breath and thanked Fallor for his guidance. He felt the strength and confidence return, if it had been a victory then it was the first of many that night. Something or someone waited for them, of that he was now certain.

  Gilliam turned to leave but paused at the tent’s entrance, his gaze went to his studded mace propped against a storage chest. He hadn’t planned to take it with him, but now he felt drawn to it. Gilliam’s pause was brief and at the end of it he decided on taking his preferred weapon. He planned to go unarmed, since there was little danger to be found in a tunnel he felt his clerical spells would be more than enough. He wasn’t sure why he was so confident, but that changed after Renard’s visit. Hefting the two feet long weapon, he slung it over his shoulder with its custom made sling, hanging low enough at his right side that he could use it in an instant. He swung his traveling cloak over his shoulders to hide the weapon. Ready at last, he pushed aside the tent flaps and stepped out into the cool night air.

  Chapter 12

  From his vantage point, Berek watched Renar
d as he left Gilliam’s tent and strode, rather smug, towards his own pavilion. The fighter kept himself busy sharpening his sword when he saw the company’s owner approach. Berek kept sharpening his blade while watching the man with a sardonic smile. Renard would most likely be trying to learn what Berek’s plans were, or to turn his uncle against him, or both. Such a shame his master wasn’t as adept at manipulation as he believed. Berek knew his uncle well enough that he was certain he’d try to save the young man’s soul. Too bad, he thought, that Renard couldn’t understand the importance of such things in people’s lives.

  Berek’s own beliefs were strengthened when Gilliam left his tent. With a smile, the young fighter sheathed his sword and inspected the knife he kept in his boot for emergencies. Satisfied both were sharp enough, he put the dagger back and slid from his perch in a tree just above the stalls along Main Street. He left the tent city an hour earlier so he and Gilliam wouldn’t be seen leaving together, though he was sure it was a useless precaution as Renard’s pet Fech had to be somewhere watching them. At least he saw the Nursk Brothers leave twenty minutes earlier to set up their ambush. He toyed with the idea of ambushing them but quickly dismissed it, even at his best and with surprise on his side he wouldn’t survive. At least this way he knew they were out there waiting for him, allowing him to prepare for what was to come. Those thoughts finished working through his mind as he landed, with perfect timing, in front of his uncle. A second’s hesitation and they would’ve collided.

  Berek’s sudden appearance was nearly his last as Gilliam’s mace missed his head by inches, and that was only due to Gilliam recognizing his nephew in time. “Damn it! What in blazes do you think you’re doing?

  Gilliam’s agitation was apparent while he reshouldered his mace and smoothed his robes, but his red face only deepened. In response Berek shrugged, “Just wanted to make sure you’re not distracted.”

  “Not distracted?” Gilliam eyed his nephew with a look capable of killing. “Cause me to have a heart attack and I’ll show you a distraction!” After a moment he realized there had to be a reason for his nephew’s action. It could only be two things, either he wasn’t ready or he hoped Gilliam’s strike would’ve… No, he refused to finish his thought deciding instead on the alternative. “You know something.”

  The only hint he was right came as a nod from Berek, a motion causing the cleric to thank Fallor for his reflexes. “I saw the Nursk Brothers leave a while back. They’ll have an ambush in place for me once we’re beyond the market place.”

  Without a wasted motion or hint of what he was doing, Berek started walking towards the market place. Gilliam hurried to catch up, his robes proving to be a hindrance to speed or stealth. “Wouldn’t it be wiser to remain here then?” As soon as he asked it Gilliam feared the answer.

  “Renard came to see you. What do you think?” Berek spoke without a pause in his step.

  Gilliam’s heart fell into a bottomless pit. “It’d be safe for the night.”

  Berek nodded, “But tomorrow their weapons will be coated in poison or some other scheme of his. Better to meet my fate than wait for it.”

  Gilliam remained silent as they continued on their way. It wasn’t until a voice hailed them towards the end of the market place that they paused. “Nice night for an ambush.” The cleric tried to see the voice’s owner but all he could make out was the occasional red glowing ember.

  “Nice and cool tonight. Been out long, Galin?” Berek recognized the Dwarven smith’s voice. On more than a few occasions the fighter brought his damaged armor or weapons to him to be repaired or traded. Over the years the two developed a friendship.

  The Dwarf chuckled, sitting forward and allowing the light from the moon to light his face, more for the cleric’s benefit than Berek’s. “Not too long. Nice night for a smoke.”

  “And an ambush?” Gilliam asked, then swallowed hard at seeing the Dwarf nod.

  “About twenty minutes ago. They were trying to sneak out but between the smell and noise you couldn’t miss them.” Galin chuckled at the memory.

  Berek nodded, Gilliam thought they were being too casual about the situation but before he could say anything Galin emptied his pipe and placed it in an inner pocket of his vest. “Begging your forgiveness, but they were better armed than you.”

  Berek couldn’t help but chuckle, “Better weapons never won out over a better man, last I checked.”

  Galin nodded, “But it makes it a bit easier, lad.” He stood to his full four feet, stretched, then picked up his hammer. “We best get moving then.”

  Try as he might, Gilliam couldn’t believe his eyes, it seemed they picked up another member. His surprise doubled when Berek spoke. “We?”

  Galin shrugged, “Humans are ten to a copper piece, good ones are ten to a silver piece, and--”

  “Friends are worth a hundred gold pieces.” Gilliam finished the proverb.

  Galin looked at him a moment before shrugging, “I was going to say Customers but we can go with that.” His eyes sparkled. It was one of the rare moments he showed his emotions in front of humans.

  Berek understood and clapped the Dwarf on his shoulder, “Welcome to our band.”

  “What about your shop?” Gilliam never saw anyone walk away from their livelihood so easily.

  Galin shrugged again, “Nothing there. Sent the others home with the money after everything sold. Besides,” he tossed his hammer in the air and caught it; an action the cleric was sure would’ve taken his own arm off, “a little fun keeps one young, lad.” Without another word, two fighters and an astounded cleric, continued on their way out of Renard’s camp.

  *****

  “Finished!” Viola couldn’t believe her elation at finishing her punishment. She laid the quill down and rubbed her sore hand. In front of her “Lecotah” was written two hundred times on a piece of parchment. To her surprise, the last hundred glowed, the last of them written were the brightest of all. Most important, she could feel the magic swell in her like a rising tide. She learned the spell!

  Mern glanced at the parchment and smiled, “You take instruction well.” He set it aside, “I hope you understand the importance of every detail child.”

  Viola nodded, “Yes, thank you Master. But there’s something I still don’t understand… how, or why, do I feel like this.” Words escaped her when she tried to describe the feeling of power and ecstasy threatening to overwhelm her when she studied and used the magic.

  Mern smiled at her, knowing what caused her struggle. “It’s something all magic users feel when they work their art. Each of us are vessels of incredible power the likes of which only the Gods had known at one time. It’s nothing to fear, but remember you must control the magic. If you allow it to control you then your death will be horrible.”

  Viola nodded, she heard the same thing many times at the magic school but until then she never truly understood how much meaning master Poumous’ words held. She felt the power surge before, but nothing like it was just then. Now that she felt the power flowing inside of her she wanted more. Mern saw the hunger in Viola’s eyes, realizing what he started. “As you know, you’ll grow physically weaker after each spell. The higher level the spell the more strength it’ll consume and the longer you’ll need to recover.” He paused a moment before continuing, “I tell you this, not to insult you, but to caution you. For ambitious mages such as yourself, the temptation to learn faster and use more powerful magic is only natural. But if you cast a spell far beyond your abilities it won’t work, but sometimes magic has a will of its own. It may allow you to cast the spell, but it would mean your death and a tortured existence after that.”

  Mern paused long enough to let his lecture be absorbed. When he was certain it had, he continued by handing over a scroll case with thirty scrolls in it. Viola’s eyes widened, then turned to her master. In answer Mern nodded, “These are yours; they are all in the range of your abilities. Copy them into your spell book without altering them. It will take you a
month, most likely two to master all of these. Once you do you will be tested. Understood? Good. That’s all for this evening. You’ve done well so far, child. I trust you won’t disappoint me.”

  Without seeing or witnessing a word or motion Viola found herself back in the hallway, her arms full with the scroll set given to her. “Thank you Master, you won’t be disappointed.” Excited, she made her way down the hall to her room. Wanting to get started with her studies she barely remembered Janessa and their agreement. If there was a treasure to be found she couldn’t back out now, despite her feelings.

  Viola put the scrolls in her room and was sure to seal them in an enchanted trunk she used to store her magical items. Thus far her collection was lacking but it was growing, thanks to her master’s contribution. Thinking it strange that she hadn’t heard from Janessa for so many hours, she paused at the door after making sure everything was secure. She was concerned but it wasn’t the first time her friend went her own way when she had an interest in a man. Viola wasn’t sure if she’d ever understand the Halfling. Living life so free was something she could never see herself doing. Viola had an idea where to look for her, Stang was a stable boy after all.

  *****

  Grateful the other stable boys had their fair share of the work to do, Janessa closed the door to the stable boy’s quarters and made her way through the hallway, finishing the adjustments to her shirt. Not a bad day, she thought. She had been intent on asserting herself and being more aggressive towards Stang, being coy was her strong point. Janessa couldn’t stop smiling; she got everything she wanted out of him. A creature enslaved to her passions, Janessa learned long ago to yield to them.

  Now she had business to complete, she was certain where the emergency entrance to the caves would be found and as much as she appreciated her time with a man, the promise of gold proved to be far more alluring. If that handsome fighter hadn’t lied then they’d all be able to retire. If he tried to betray them, well she hadn’t planned for that. He seemed honest enough and if the rumors about the various beasts and guardians charged with protecting the treasure were true, then he and his friend would be needed and welcomed. She had to admit that she doubted anything but vermin were in the tunnels after all those years. People made up the most interesting stories when they didn’t want something searched.