by Reaves, Troy
Tana just put a finger to her lips, silencing Gregor, and gave him a wink. "Don't worry about that busy-body. No need to steal his gossip away. He won't be the only tradesman to make that mistake, and these old men thrive on the tales they carry to market. You can correct his error another time, but rest assured he will never believe you." Tana's warm smile was directed toward where the baker had disappeared into the back of his shop, but Gregor could not shake the feeling she was thinking about him. "We should go. There are several more people for you to meet."
Tana and Gregor spent the rest of the day making the rounds visiting various other traders and artisans throughout the city. The huntress showed Gregor where to go, and nearly as important, where not to go. Tana was well known and equally well thought of among the people that Gregor met. The baker's misinterpretation of their relationship was repeated by several of the vendors, who felt compelled to mention it at all. It was an understandable mistake, since the men who usually accompanied her into Nactium were bound and unceremoniously dragged behind her. A few of the more robust gossips noted it was time that Tana had found a suitable male companion, considering her maturity. Tana corrected their mistake rather sharply, stating that she needed no protection from a man, and was by no means ready to settle in and bear children. That raised a few eyebrows, and brought chuckles from the bystanders, as she dressed down the offending parties. Gregor was certain he understood where Tana stood in regards to him, or any potential suitor, and was glad he had not taken to entertaining such notions. At least, that is what he told himself.
Tana had saved the best stop for last as they neared a simple stone building off the main thoroughfare. The sign at the front bore a large anvil and hammer, not unlike the other smiths in the city, and a single massive chimney billowed great clouds of black smoke. Tana wrinkled her nose in disgust at the cloud, but opened the door for Gregor, motioning him inside. "Now, where is that man?" Tana looked around the neatly arranged rows of display cases, seeking the shop owner. A great hammering sounded from the rear of the shop. "Filcher, come here, you little weasel!"
Gregor was taken aback at the words Tana had shouted until he noticed there was a small, furry head that had poked up over the counter before them. Gregor's experience with the rodent hunters was limited, but, as the long, furry creature stretched across the counter, the warrior noted it was in fact a weasel. What it was doing here in this place, and why Tana was calling for it at all, was strange, to say the least. That Tana took the time to introduce Gregor to the animal was even more curious. "Filcher, this is my friend, Gregor. Gregor, this is Filcher. Filcher is in charge of guarding this humble establishment and making certain he is the only rodent that gets any part of the blacksmith's food. Go and get your Master, Filcher, and you can have a treat."
Filcher wasted no time scurrying down the counter and running through the opening that separated the work area from the front of the building. A bellowing voice replaced the steady hammer blows from the back. "What are you up to now, Filcher? It cannot be time for the luncheon yet. I am never going to get this forge hot enough with all these interruptions. Customers? Well, why didn't you say so?" The smith's voice shook the weapons and armor on display in the room where Tana and Gregor waited as he called out from the back room. "Be right with you!"
Moments later, the largest man Gregor had ever seen emerged through the archway between the two rooms, with Filcher perched on his shoulder. "Tana! Why didn't you tell me it was Tana, you little weasel? Probably because you can't talk!" The man removed his thick leather gloves and patted Filcher on the head. "Off with you, rodent!" Filcher took his cue, running up Tana's outstretched arm to retrieve the treat she had promised, a bit of dried meat. Moments later he disappeared behind the counter. "Well, I say the rodent can't talk, but he sure can beg. Damn good to see you, girl! Finally bringing a man around for the community's approval, I see."
"Gregor seeks the approval of only the God of Light, and perhaps the aid of a fine smith. I was wondering if you might be able to recommend someone." Though Tana's tone was serious, her smile betrayed her.
The giant smith's brow furrowed at her chiding. "Now, now. No need to get sensitive and question a man's worth at his own forge." He turned to smile at Gregor, extending a rough, thick-skinned hand that dwarfed Gregor's own. "Gregor, is it? A fine, strong name for a blade master devoted to the God of Light. I see by your grip you favor the right hand." The smith's eyes fell to the scabbards at Gregor's sides. "Good, good, but it makes me wonder why you would carry blades clearly weighted for one stronger with their left arm. Fine blades they are, too. Haven't seen their kind for a great many years. I used to number among the smiths who tended such fine weapons, when the Knights of the Golden Dragon still roamed these lands. May I see them?"
Gregor was happy to pass Master Silverwing's weapons to the smith for examination. "Gregor, Firebeard comes from a long line of oversized blacksmiths. His family has a very interesting history and in their time have served great kings throughout generations."
"Tana, your words honor me." Firebeard had turned to lay the blades across his counter for closer examination. "I am the fourth generation of smiths bearing the name Firebeard. Way back in our family tree, there lived one of the giants of the great Peaks of Flame. The first Firebeard was a wee one among his own people, but still a giant. Our family passes on the tale of his union with a simple human mistress of no small stature herself." Firebeard smiled as he related how the small giant and the tall farm girl, standing well over the tallest men in her village, came to meet. It was a story of love and heroism that rivaled the greatest stories of the land.
The original Firebeard had had to pass through many trials to win the Mistress Inania's love and the respect of her father, a father who was, to put it mildly, troubled by taking a giant as a son in law. No one could doubt Firebeard's love for the woman who would become his bride, and who would begin a line of great smiths that lived on in the master smith standing before Gregor now. The Lord he served so long ago knighted the first Firebeard, and though he never raised a weapon after he came into the Lord's service, his abilities at the forge were remembered in the Lord's house for generations. His hands forged the original weapons of the Knights of the Golden Dragon. These works of art, formed of steel and mystical alloys, had been blessed by the priests of the God of Light, and had brought down many evil creatures and men.
Master Firebeard scratched his chin thoughtfully as he finished his story. "I am glad to see Master Silverwing still possesses a pair of the originals, although that broken blade you bear on your back saddens me, Gregor. How did it come to be broken? I would not think it was even possible."
Gregor once more related the story of how the blade had come to him. Firebeard was rapt as Gregor spoke, even as he examined the blade. "The Master of this weapon was well known to me, with my own hands having cared for this sword when it was whole. Would you allow me to restore the hilt? It is a terrible thing to know the weapon has been ill used, but some good should come of it yet. I cannot restore the full power to the weapon, only perhaps fashion a suitable hilt, but I am certain the temple priests guiding you now would have little trouble bestowing the proper blessings."
Gregor answered without a moment's hesitation. "I would be honored by your labors, Master Firebeard. Take whatever time you need. I will be deep in my studies at the temple, having little need for the weapon while I am there. I would also ask that you tend to Master Silverwing's blades. The fire of a proper forge has not touched them in some time, though the smith in Bella Grey, my village, did the best he could, and they are sure to need some repair."
"You honor me, Master Gregor. I will happily return a proper edge to Lord Silverwing's weapons, and fashion a proper hilt to the broken blade as well. I will not keep them longer than is necessary, and I have a very secure place to store them until you return." Firebeard turned and moved behind the counter, stopping in front of a massive metal carving depicting a giant, which must have been th
e original Firebeard, facing a massive dragon that dwarfed the giant by comparison. The blade the giant warrior wielded was a reflective black metal sword as tall as he was that stood out against the steel surface where it was mounted. "Filcher! Make yourself useful!" The great wall hanging lowered to reveal an open space carved into the wall itself, forming a long table at Firebeard’s waist. "Come around here, you two. I want to show you something."
Tana and Gregor stepped around the counter to join Firebeard on the other side. Filcher sat on his haunches inside the alcove, waiting for his reward. Firebeard tossed him a piece of dried meat from the pouch at his hip, and drew a great black sword resembling the one in the relief from its home in the wall. "The thing is much too large to wield properly, even by one of my size. The workmanship is amazing for something so dense. The metal is called Elenondo, or star stone, taking its name from the heavens of its origin. It takes a terrible heat to work the stone into any usable form, but there is nothing to match its strength that man can extract from the earth. The secret of working the metal has been passed down from generations since the first Firebeard fashioned this sword. You probably recognize the hilt. It is a larger version of the ones possessed by the swords of the Knights of the Golden Dragon. Firebeard's people held the great serpents in very high regard, and he was saddened to have to kill even a rogue one. The beasts generally keep to the volcanic mountains where they make their homes, and seldom come into contact with the civilizations of men. It is a beautiful weapon."
Gregor was moved to ask about the alcove itself, admiring the feat of craftsmanship. "That is my greatest construction of metalwork yet. The massive springs and lever bars keep the wall hanging from dropping too fast as it opens, and Filcher enters through a twisted tunnel to release the catch that opens it. There are other ways to open it, but I can't tell all my secrets now, can I? Your weapons will be safe within." Firebeard shooed the weasel out of the alcove and closed it once again.
Gregor and Tana left the smith to his work, and completed their tour of the rest of the city; she left him shortly thereafter at the temple to begin his training with the priests. Gregor felt an odd pain as she departed, a regret he had not experienced in his life. He missed his village and his parents, but this feeling struck him more deeply, though he could not say why. Tana would have recognized it, but much more time would pass before she felt the loss as strongly. It would be some while before they would see each other again. Duty called each to follow their own path, one to train as a knight of the Golden Dragon, and the other to protect the lands she loved.
6
To Catch a Thief
Boremac was angry. Travelflor did not number among the cities he favored, and for good reason. There were far too many guards and far too few marks, and the rogue had spent a fair amount of his visits here locked up in the local jail. Now the less than honorable elements that made a permanent home here had brought word that Boremac was being sought. He had followed the detailed instructions he had received to the letter, and here he stood in this warehouse of death. The smell of rotten meat and flea-ridden furs was nearly overwhelming, and the rogue found himself wondering what had happened to the previous owner. He had neither the time nor the inclination to dig among the rotting hides to see if the tradesman was still there. Boremac was right where he was supposed to be, despite the minor delay of casing the location. He was not about to take any chances with the finger of the Black Hand that had contacted him. The pickpocket was just about fed up with the whole mess, and was turning for the door, when a figure entered cloaked in black. "You came alone?"
"Your messenger insisted that I do so. I won't even insult you by asking the same." Boremac practically spat the words out. "You have the coins and gems? I won't be handing my information over for free, and I expect to be paid before I leave here."
A slight, gloved hand bearing a small coin purse emerged from the folds of the cloak that hid the contact's face. "You will receive full payment once I feel certain you have information of value. You can count it at your leisure before we part company."
"Well, I am not happy about being kept waiting so long. I am a servant to no one, unlike you, and I have other things to do this night. Drinking and sleep number high on my priorities at such a late hour." Boremac grinned at his little joke, but the tone of the person with him did not show any sign of being amused.
"I would think securing one's place among the living would be a very high priority for one of your reputation. You should be glad I chose to pay you for your information at all. The others whom I represent have many ways to find out what they need to know that are far less comfortable. You just had the luck to come to my attention first, and I believe you are more useful to the Brotherhood alive rather than dead." This statement brought a light chuckle from beneath the man's hood that sounded like rough metal being scraped over the edge of an iron file. The man in front of Boremac did not wait for a reply before continuing. "What do you have to offer me?"
"I know the man you hunt has a student, and I know where he is headed. Silverwing will be leaving to pursue his pupil soon to retrieve his blades and complete the young warrior's training. The young one is already quite a talent, but the Black Hand should dispense with him readily enough. They would probably be paid his weight in gold for the elimination of the mentor and student. Yes, I know his name and where they can find him. Did you bring enough coins for that information? I doubt seriously the dead assassins the Hand sent for the ranger could have told you as much." It was Boremac's turn to chuckle, a cunning smile settling on his mouth as he decided to push his luck a bit. Boremac cocked an eyebrow at the individual before him. "Is there any reason for me not to see the face of the man I am dealing with? You have made quite an effort, and a successful one at that, to stay hidden from me in setting up this meeting. It seems only fair, since I am putting my life in your hands, and we will certainly be in touch again, that I know who it is I am trusting."
The figure before him seemed to consider the request. His answer came soon enough, as black leather gloves emerged from the cloak and pulled back the hood. Boremac smiled in appreciation of the man's little deception, noting the black mask that revealed only his eyes as the hood fell to his shoulders. "You are a careful bunch, aren't you? I can respect that. People in our line of work just never know who they can trust. I took the liberty of writing the information down for you in case some unforeseen event prevented my arrival. I guess that is no longer a concern. If you don't mind, we can pass the coin and the paper at the same time with opposite hands. One cannot be too careful."
The masked figure nodded his agreement, and put out his hands, with one holding the coin purse and the other outstretched as a sign of good faith. Boremac reached out to take the coin purse, noting briefly that his new friend's eyes had darted upward ever so slightly before meeting Boremac's own intent gaze. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about your partner. He's dead. Nice dagger he had though. Seems a shame to lose it." The dagger appeared as if by magic in the masked figure's throat, neatly cutting off his ability to reply. The force of the thrust dropped the figure onto his back, and Boremac pocketed the coin purse before the dust had settled. "No, we can never tell who we can trust, and it doesn't pay to ask the wrong people the wrong questions. I am sure you would agree, if you were in any condition to talk. Oh well, best get your partner down here so you can look like you killed him. Won't matter much, and I am pretty sure you made certain no one will be checking this warehouse. Looks like it is time for me to be getting down the road again. See you in the lowest levels of hell when I finally make a mistake."
A hand grabbed Boremac’s collar so quickly he didn’t have time to react. “Damn. Silverwing I assume?” He did not even wait to be told, dropping his weapons to the ground.
Silverwing spun the rogue around to face him. The look on the ranger’s face sent a shiver through Boremac. It appeared he had finally made that mistake. The knife under his chin only reinforced the thought. “Good, so I don’t need to
introduce myself. Who the hells are you and why have you been following me? Answer carefully.”
“Opportunity.” Boremac almost smiled… almost. “The hunter, Silverwing, and his student are now hunted by a very successful group of killers with only one known failure. That would be me.” Now Boremac did smile. “I suggest I would be more use to you alive than dead. I know how they operate having been pursued for… some time.”
“You appear honest enough facing imminent death. You may serve some purpose after all. Since you appear to seek any opportunity that presents itself, I will give you one suited to your skills. It might even give you some hope.” The ranger's words caught Boremac unprepared, and once more his throat closed as if a hangman's noose were around it.
"You are not leaving without purpose, and do not make the mistake of thinking you are safe outside the walls of the city. The young man, Gregor by name, that I traveled with is the one they are after. You are going to make sure they don’t harm him.” Boremac noted it was not a question. “There is a weapon and armor merchant leaving for the port city of Nactium. He has found favor with the Temple of Light and is a patron of the temples where he travels. I will arrange for your safe passage aboard his ship. There will be a package of acolyte robes for you to use as a disguise in order to enter the Temple of Light where Master Gregor now trains. After arrival find somewhere discreet to change into them and go directly to the Temple. Get word to Gregor that I am well, and I will contact him soon. You are to gather as much information as you can about the affairs in Nactium, and more importantly, make sure no harm comes to Gregor. Be ready to board ship without warning, and make sure your connection to my student is not discovered. If these assassins find that you are assisting us, I have no doubt your life will be forfeit. If you deviate from the path I have given you, I will hunt you myself. Do you understand?" Master Silverwing's hard features left Boremac no room for misunderstanding
