by Lee LaCroix
“I suppose we could do that,” Novas replied with a nod.
“Not that you have a choice! I’m going to put you in touch with Trademaster Varkas. He’ll take the goods off your hands,” the man told them as he began to scrawl up a fresh document for them.
Although he stamped it with a Blackwoods symbol, the sword, hammer, and axe hovered above a skull this time. Griff took an iron brand out of the nearby brazier and stamped the two boxes with the same Blackwoods logo, a common practice to discourage further theft. Novas took this to be an ominous sign, and his uneasiness only increased by the scowl that was drawn across Griff’s face.
“I’m gonna write here that he should put you to work. Zill, no one likes you here, I want you gone. And kid, Rast, I think this is all bad luck. I don’t want to see you again. You’ll regret it if you do,” Griff commanded.
The two couriers feigned concern, meeting each other’s eyes as they gulped slowly.
“Okay… okay, we’re gone,” Zill stuttered as the two collected up the crates and departed.
As they broke the borders of the mill, they looked at each other with wide grins. They had hoped they were free and on their way to better things at last.
Although Novas was pleased that his plan was going well, he had a hard time abolishing any fears that this was all a setup. There was still a pleasant warmness as they traversed through the shadow of the woods, but as they broke the limits of the woods and emerged onto the highway, the heat of the sun made their load much more uncomfortable. They began to travel slower, and Novas kept a keen awareness while they travelled down the highway. He had hoped that the Blackwoods sigils on the crates would prevent them from any further high jacking, but perhaps any highwaymen would figure they had stolen from thieves themselves.
“So, here we are, on our way to Amatharsus. What are you planning?” Zill questioned.
“We need to find this Varkas fellow. I assume you’ll want to eat beyond today, so we’ll have to find work,” Novas stated.
Zill looked at Novas with a sideways glance and a crooked look on his face.
“I have a feeling that finding work isn’t your biggest priority, you sure as hell mucked up the last job well enough,” Zill teased.
Zill was beginning to suspect something, Novas thought to himself. Novas had spoken too much about his covert plans. He wondered again how much he should say, and if he could really trust this charismatic wanderer.
“I need to find out more about the Blackwoods. That means getting inside, searching around, gaining the trust of others, and getting answers from them. And that continues with working for this Varkas person,” Novas explained.
Zill looked at Novas with a familiar glance of suspicion.
“So, what are you, some sort of traitor?” Zill inquired.
Novas puckered his lips and drew out a long breath.
“I’ve done many things... as a hunter, thief, sellsword, spy. All I know is that I’m striving to free the common man from the oppression that the Blackwoods has imposed open this kingdom like my father does, like the Crown Aegis does, and every person who supports us,” Novas told him.
“The Crown Aegis? I haven’t seen them for months now. Hell, one of the reasons I joined up with Griff was because the roads were in such poor defense. Well, that would make you rebels then, would it not?” Zill asked.
“We have been called rebels,” Novas divulged.
“A rebel, you say? That’s a moniker I don’t think I would mind to have,” Zill chuckled. “You don’t think we could find a pretty lady who would swoon for a brave man like me do you?”
“I suppose you’ll have to wait and see. Amatharsus continues to surprise me,” Novas said with a chuckle and then rolled his eyes.
The two continued down the highway southwest until they came across the tiny river, stopped to fill their canteens, and then rest under the bridge’s shade. They had hardly noticed the weight of their cargo during their conversation, but when they were silent and watchful of their surroundings, the length of their journey seemed to stretch on. They had a seat on their crates beside a rocky riverside and splashed some water onto their dry cloths and scorching leathers. After they continued, two carriages sauntered by, and they scurried off the path to make room for it. Before long, the spires of Amatharsus were in view, and they found themselves at the southern entrance to the Lower Quarter pushing by merchants and street traffic.
“I have not been here for months, at least not since the King died. I have never seen these streets so full. Are you sure there’s really a problem here?” Zill asked as they muscled their way through the crowds.
“You’ve never seen the bodies washed up in the gutters, the children of skin and bone resorted to thievery, and the rash street vendor who would do anything to protect their stock. During the day, you can see so much life. When the sun goes down, death begins to rise anew each night,” Novas explained.
Zill looked at the thoroughfare as the ocean of faces passed by him, and he saw a lot of desperation in their eyes, but he did not pity them. It strengthened him, reminded him that he needed to do anything to end up from becoming like them. He had no one else to fight for but himself, and he thought perhaps that was why he could work for the Blackwoods so easily. He was glad he had a good pair of swords by his side. He knew he would need them before the end.
As Novas and Zill approached the Salty Dog, they were guided by a moving sea chant that brought them straight to the door. The wooden shutters were open, and the tavern seemed usual when the sun was setting that day. They stacked their cargo nearest to the alleyway, and Novas cracked open the crate with the trinkets, pulled out a handful, and shoved it into a pocket in his jerkin.
“Wait here. I’ll see if Tummas will rent you a room for some of the goods we’ve brought here,” Novas explained before disappearing behind the heavy oak door of the busy mead hall.
Novas returned a short while later with a nod and a smirk on his face, and they gathered up the crates and headed up to the fourth floor. Even though Zill did have a short time to rest, this final heave up the flights of stairs was enough to have him fully perspired when they finally reached the room. They set down the crates, and Novas tossed Zill the key.
“It’s been a long day for me, and I’m sure it has for you. I must rest and recover, but I will be by tomorrow to collect you so we can find this Varkas fellow and find us some work. Rest well,” Novas said as he lifted up his crate and nodded to Zill.
“You too. See you then,” Zill replied.
Novas headed down the stairs, made his way into his room, and sat down the crate in his room. He entered the study to find his father lounging and staring out the window into the light of sundown. He looked over at Novas but was surprised to what he saw.
“You’re home early, son. I expected Kayten to be walking through that door, not you. Did you get kicked out of the Blackwoods already?” his father teased.
“For the most part, yes. The captain of the Obsidian sent me to a highwayman’s camp a ways northeast of the city. I managed to both kill the bandit Khern who stopped us outside of the Southbriar Crossroads, and gain the trust of the bandit master Griff. He sent me back to the city, as I was an ill omen, to deliver this crate and seek the work of a Trademaster Varkas,” Novas explained with a laugh.
Garreth was surprised. His son had done so much in the one day they were apart. He felt a welling of pride and thought that he had raised him well.
“But, it was not without its price,” Novas explained as he lifted up his jerkin to reveal his now loose and tangled bandaging.
His father sat up at the sight of his son’s wound, and he waved his son over to inspect it.
“There is a cost to all things, I suppose. Have a seat here, and I will prepare the necessary salve,” Garreth stated, undoing the bandages with a sigh.
As Garreth prepared the remedy, Novas disclosed the particular details of his journey, including his meeting with Griff, his fight with Khern, the
rescue of Velya, and the befriending of Zill.
“I want you to be careful around this Zill, Novas. He may be a lad like yourself, but he could still be a Blackwoods lackey. Do not disclose important secrets of the Crown Aegis to him. Use him how you see fit to infiltrate the Blackwoods. It may have been a mistake to bring him here, but only time will tell. His character has yet to be tested completely. You must remember this,” Garreth warned his son.
Novas nodded and thought hard on this warning. When Garreth had finished the salve, Novas applied it to himself before a round of new bandages and fed himself some leftover bread and cold rabbit stew leftover from Garreth’s dinner. Soon, he was full and sedate and fell into a deep sleep.
Chapter Eighteen
Kayten was nudged out of sleep by her sense of hearing, for the rustle of moving bodies was difficult to muffle on the creaky wooden floors of the hallway. She dismissed the sounds and tried her best to put them out of her head, ignoring their assault on her rest. She had been up late studying the sunsteel and the moonstone. While she did not attempt to craft anymore, she was fascinated by their properties like a stargazer examining the shooting fires of the skies above. She dozed off thinking of their brilliant textures, and their images bent and shifted in her mind as she returned to dream. However, the sound of voices awoke her again soon enough, and as she focused on their words, she could make out Garreth’s voice in particular. The other one was not as deep as Berault’s or Tummas’s though, and she found herself intrigued. She bolted straight up, threw on some clothes, and brushed her hair with her fingers before stepping into the hall. She appeared in the doorway as the two hunters were sitting down to a tea of nettles and herbs, which was an old recipe from Garreth’s family for wakefulness.
“You’re back!” she exclaimed with a smile as she looked at Novas. “I’m glad you’re safe.”
“Thanks Kayten. I tried to stay as safe as I could, but it wasn’t always an option,” Novas explained.
“Indeed. He succeeded in his mission though, faster and more thorough than even I expected,” Garreth told her.
“That is good to hear. What’s next on your big adventure?” Kayten asked.
“Well, I am to work under a trademaster next, who supposedly has connections with the Blackwoods. Hopefully, I will gain unrestricted access to the Trade District and gain further information into their trade operations. Who knows what I will find there?” Novas detailed.
“You manage to make the laborious sound exciting, Novas,” Kayten said with a laugh.
The two men followed in suit with some hearty chuckles. Kayten shared a cup of tea with the two, and soon Novas was on his way to collect Zill, and Garreth had left to meet Berault on some business. Kayten had stayed behind to collect some more sunsteel, and as soon as it was packaged, she left the rooms and returned to the smithy. Mose was apprenticing one of the new smiths today, so Kayten’s usual routine of repairs and refurbishment had been taken up by another’s hands, leaving her free to task away at her new commission. She unwrapped her materials near the anvil and forge closest to the back of the smithy and began to work on the blade.
Kayten began with a new bar of sunsteel and the previously forged bar of moonstone which had been pounded flat the night before. As she had not had the chance to design a weapon in some time, she wanted these blades to be an example of her art, and she dared to do what had never done before. A combination of moonstone and sunsteel is what she dreamed of, for she saw ephemeral visions of the swords in her sleep.
She began by heating a bar of sunsteel in the forge until it was malleable and then hammered it into a thin length. As she was flattening the bar, Kayten observed its colour as not to trigger the explosive reaction that occurred hours before. The process took longer than usual because she had to heat the metal, apply a limited amount of force, wait for the bar to finish quivering, and then repeat. Before long, Kayten had three long strips of sunsteel which she would use in the layering of the blade. Then, Kayten heated the moonstone and beat the metal into two similar strips that would be used on the blade as well. When this process was finished, Kayten placed the two layers of moonstone between the three layers of sunsteel and began to forge the length of the blade.
With the tongs, she grasped the five layers and placed them into the forge to heat. When they were properly heated, Kayten pounded the layered metals together into a length similar to a sword blade. As the blade continued to take shape, Kayten could no longer see the division of layers further. When the rudimentary design of the blade was done, she wished to expose the inner moonstone to the outer layer of the sword. Kayten prepared a pair of fullers to fashion a groove down the center of the blade. As the twin fullers pinched the middle of the blade, a layer of moonstone emerged inside the core surrounded by sunsteel.
While the sword was being heat-treated in the forge, she prepared a narrow barrel and filled it with oil to be used to quench the blade. Kayten knew that one of the most important steps was the proper tempering of the blade, and when the blade was as hot as the forge would allow, she removed the blade with the tongs and inserted it into the quenching barrel. As Kayten’s anxiety grew as she heard the hiss of the metal, knowing that this was a crucial step in the process. When she removed the blade, it was black and ashy but did not appear to be warped in any way. She let out a sigh of relief and continued.
As the blade cooled, she constructed the guard and the pommel of the sword from the leftover pieces of both metals, layering one piece of moonstone between two pieces of sunsteel. After she heated the metals, Kayten punched holes in the center of the pieces with a small file to allow for the tang. When the guard and pommel were hammered to a solid mass, she took all three pieces over the grindstone to begin shaping. The smithy was fortunate enough to have personal grindstones, which would be used with a single person’s pedal power. They had once been used to construct the weapons and armour of the Crown Aegis and had found their way into the armory after the group’s dissolution. Kayten pumped the pedals as the speeding grindstone spun between her legs, and she wore the guard and pommel into elegant curved shapes that mixed the two metals in a brushed, blending texture. She fit the two pieces onto the tang and was impressed by their snugness. She removed them, placed them aside, and then began the finishing touches on the blade. She began by grinding off the excess on the tip, ground it into a point, and then worked her way down the sword by smoothing the sides to a fine edge. The sword began to shine, but Kayten knew it would not know true beauty until it was oiled.
When the blade was sharp, she added the guard and the pommel in place, wrapped the grip in string, a natural adhesive, and a dark leather strip she refurbished. When the grip had set completely, Kayten reinserted the sword into the oil tank for a final finishing. Kayten had been so absorbed in her work that she had hardly noticed the setting of the sun or the emptying of the smithy. All she could think about were those beautiful metals.
Kayten removed the sword from the oil a while later and hung it from the ceiling, letting the viscous liquid drip off of the drying blade. She had a seat on the grindstone and stared at her work intently. It was a fine creation, she thought. It was not as gaudy as decorated swords, which were often affixed with jewels and ornamentations, but the sword seemed to be radiant already. The torchlight of the smithy reflected off the sunsteel of the blade like shimmering streams of gold. Together with the darkness of the unlit moonstone, the pattern of the mixed metals seemed mesmerizing to her. The pommel and hilt shown with concentrated brightness. She took hold of the sword and brought it out into the darkness of night, and a warm breeze blew by her. The clouds broke just long enough for the moon to cast its blessing upon the blade, and it appeared to be a different sword entirely. The moonstone pulsed blue-white down the length of the blade like a silver stream flowing towards the hilt. Kayten was transfixed and could not believe her eyes; it was the sword from her dreams, and she had brought it to life.
It was not long after the sword’s comple
tion that Kayten began to feel exhausted from her day around the tiring grindstone and the demanding forge. She would have gone home right that instant, but she thought it would be wise to create some moonstone in the dead of night instead of tomorrow in the presence of other busy smiths. Kayten dragged the anvil over to the armory door, and as she was heating the sunsteel, she put her back against it. When the heated sunsteel exploded with energy, she was forced up against the door but did not lose her balance or her grip on the tongs. She had a small chuckle as she primed the next bar and was impressed with her ingenuity. When the last bar was finished, she extinguished all the flames within the armory and closed the doors tight.
She was so entranced with the sword that she carried it with her as she closed the iron doors of the courtyard and wandered onto the streets. It must have been close to midnight, for the moon was high overhead, and the sword seemed to revel in its presence. The pulsing of the blade seemed stronger than she had ever seen, and the rippling effect was more pronounced than before. As she held it slung across her shoulder, the shine of the blade was enough to light her path down the dimly lit Amatharsan streets.
Her path was barren save for the occasional commoner stood outside the arched doorways of their houses. One in particular was smoking a long pipe, and another with piercing eyes glared at the glowing blade as it passed by. Kayten had the funny feeling that she was being watched but was too pleased with her creation to care. After all, it was a sword; what was the worst that could happen to her, she thought. However, the pitter-pattering of scurrying feet seemed to follow her not long after she had taken to the street, but every time she had turned and shone the sword’s light, any trace of what made the sound was gone. Only a little unnerved, Kayten took a brisk pace to her step and hurried back to the Salty Dog and up to the rooms. She placed the sword on a low dresser in her room, and the blade’s gentle resonance and her own tiredness soon had her drifting off to sleep.
