Dragon Fate

by J. D. Hallowell

  There wasn’t much activity going on in the shop. From what he could see from his poor vantage point, it looked as though everyone was watching what was transpiring between their master and someone else. He could hear Elom arguing with the person now as they walked in the back door of the building.

  “That blade is of the south and shouldn’t be in your possession,” said a nasally voice with an accent that Delno couldn’t place.

  “I told you,” Elom responded, “that blade is a commission from a customer. If you think that customer has done something wrong, then you need to go to the city guard. If they come and tell me there’s a problem, I’ll relinquish the blade to them. Then they can take it to the courts, and the courts can decide if you have a just claim. Otherwise, you can take your inquiries and your money and shove them both up your arse.”

  The man’s voice took on a dangerous edge, “You would do well not to make insults, smith.” He had made the title sound like a slur.

  “And you would do well to take your hands off of me, little man,” Elom replied in a voice that left no room for negotiation.

  The man started stringing together syllables into strange words. Realizing that the foreigner was about to use magic to harm Elom, and that despite his great physical size, he would be unprotected, Delno stepped out of the alcove and said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” As he said that, he also reached out mentally and scanned the thoughts of the man.

  Delno didn’t allow the contact to last longer than a second. As he pulled his own senses back, he felt the man reaching out mentally to scan him and slammed the “door” shut so hard the other fellow flinched and reached up to his head as if he had been struck. In the brief contact, Delno had discovered that the young man, in his early twenties, wasn’t extremely well trained in magic.

  As the young mage, who was dressed in a manner Delno had seen among caravan traders from the south, stood glaring at him, another southerner, similarly dressed, stepped forward from an alcove like the one Delno had been led to earlier. This man was older, mid-thirties, and much more heavily armed. He wore at his side a large bastard sword. On his back, over his right shoulder, could be seen the hilt of what appeared to be a short sword. There were several daggers on his belt, as well as knife hilts sticking up from each boot. In Delno’s experience, only two types of individual carried that many weapons openly. Either he was very good with edged weapons, or he simply wanted to appear dangerous. While Delno didn’t get the feeling of easy confidence that being very good would warrant, he knew it was best not to take chances in such a situation.

  “Now then, gentlemen,” he said, laying his hand almost nonchalantly on his saber, “What’s all this about?”

  Elom was only momentarily surprised by his appearance. He said, “I’m sorry, Corporal. It’s all my fault. One of my journeymen was looking at that blade of yours while one the caravan merchants was here. . . .”

  The little southerner cleared his throat and said, “If that blade is yours, where did you get it?”

  “You are in a poor position to be asking questions or making accusations.” Delno responded. “Suppose we start over. I am Delno Okonan. Who are you?”

  “You will answer my question, you pompous. . . .” the young magician started to say. His older friend, realizing that all of the men and older boys in the shop had taken up weapons, said in a loud clear voice, “Enough!”

  The younger man looked like he was about to make an angry reply when the elder went on. “There is no reason for uncivil behavior here. I am Farrel,” he executed a polite bow, “and this is my traveling companion, Cheeno.” At a look from Farrel, the young man stiffly nodded his head; not exactly polite, but Delno was willing to let it go to avoid a fight.

  “Now then,” Farrel went on. “We are from a small kingdom in the south. Perhaps you have heard of Palamore?” Delno’s surprise was apparent, and Cheeno jumped on it at once.

  “You see, he does know! It was he who stole the blade.” He raised his hand to make some type of motion and started again to string syllables into “magic words.” Unfortunately for him, he had forgotten his close proximity to the smith. He suddenly found himself unable to speak; in fact, he found it impossible to move air through his throat at all with the smith’s massive hand clamped so tightly around his neck.

  Cheeno’s eyes shifted to Farrel in a silent plea for help, but the older man found himself suddenly staring at nearly a dozen improvised weapons in the hands of the journeymen and older apprentices.

  The whole tableau had become ridiculous. Delno, not wishing to be, even indirectly, responsible for the deaths of two men from the very place he needed to go said, “Please, we obviously have a misunderstanding here. Perhaps if we all calm down we can get this settled.”

  No one moved; however, Cheeno was beginning to turn a purplish shade.

  “Elom,” Delno said, stepping forward and placing his hand on the big man’s arm, “Please, let him go.”

  Elom looked at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses. “Do you realize what he was about to do?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “I do, and I’ll handle it.” Then turning to everyone else he said, “The rest of you, put away your weapons; there’ll be no bloodshed here today.”

  As Elom reluctantly released his grip on Cheeno, the would-be mage slid to his knees still gasping for breath. It was apparent to Delno that Elom had squeezed much harder than was necessary and that the poor man’s windpipe had been crushed. He dropped to his knees in front of the stricken man and, hoping that his new skills were up to the task, he quickly examined the injuries. Then, having a good idea how much energy to draw, he used some energy from the forge and gathered it to himself and used the word “HEAL” to release it. Cheeno stopped choking and drew a deep gasping breath. After several more breaths, his color began to return to normal.

  Elom looked at Delno as if he had suddenly sprouted an extra head, but he didn’t say anything.

  Standing up, Delno turned to Farrel and said, “Well then, let’s get this straightened out, shall we?”

  At a hand motion from Elom, the rest of the men in the shop returned to work, though they stayed alert, ready for any trouble. The four men then moved to one of the alcoves where they could talk without being overheard.

  Farrel again bowed before being seated, then said, “Two years ago, in our country, a sword was stolen. I believe that we all know now that we are speaking of the Dragon Blade.” He didn’t make it an outright accusation, but the implication was that he believed Delno’s blade to be that missing sword.

  “This blade had belonged to a dragon rider who had been of the royal house of Palamore. That rider died over three centuries ago, and the blade has been passed down in the royal family since. Since it was stolen, all caravan guards have been charged with keeping watch for the blade to surface.” He paused and waited to see if Delno would admit to having the blade. When nothing was said, he continued, “As you know, that blade cannot be changed by human means. So even if the guard and pommel are altered, the blade will remain the same.”

  “I see,” said Delno. “That makes everything clear. “There is no problem here. The blade our smith has honorably been protecting for me has never been in Palamore.”

  Cheeno found his voice, “Never been in Palamore? Do you expect us to believe that you simply found it while walking one day?”

  Delno couldn’t quite stifle a snort of laughter, “That’s much closer to the truth than you realize.”

  Cheeno looked at Farrel, “How long are we going to listen to this rubbish? If they won’t give us the blade willingly, then we should send word to Palamore. We’ll see if their king is willing to go to war over a trinket.”

  Delno smiled at him and said, “So far, Cheeno, I’ve been very tolerant of your insults, but if they continue, I can use the same energy I used to heal you and put you right back down on that floor unable to breathe.”

  Cheeno’s eyes widened, he opened his mouth to reply h
otly, but controlled his anger. Instead, he said, “Dragon Blades are completely unique; made by dragons. A female dragon breathes fire on. . . .”

  “On the shell of a baby dragon while using magic to outline and strengthen the blade. When the young dragon hatches, the blade breaks away from the rest of the shell perfectly intact.” Delno finished for him.

  “If you know that, then you also know that it has to be done on an intact egg. The mother dragon will only do that if two conditions exist.” Cheeno said smugly. “If the rider bonds with the young dragon while she is still in her shell, which is very rare indeed. The second condition is that the rider has proven himself worthy of such a gift.” He paused for a moment, and then said, “There aren’t more than a dozen such blades in existence. Each one is worth a king’s ransom.”

  “Proven himself by doing something like saving the mother dragon’s life?” Delno let the question hang in the air.

  Elom’s jaw dropped. He stared so hard that Delno was almost afraid that his eyes would burst from the effort.

  Delno looked at the bigger southerner and said, “Describe the blade you are looking for, Farrel.”

  Farrel, now somewhat unsure of himself said, “It is a long sword. Over a yard in length, and double edged.”

  “Well, this will be settled in a moment then,” Delno replied. “If you can look at the blade that is here and positively identify it as the one you seek, you may take it with our blessing. Then, turning to Elom, he said, “Show them the blade, my friend.”

  Elom turned to a journeyman who had been nearby pretending to use a large hammer to cold work the edge of a rather nasty looking boar spear and sent the man to get the blade. The journeyman was gone only a minute. When he returned, he handed a large bundle to Elom.

  When Elom unwrapped the bundle, two blades were inside. One was the Dragon Blade, the other, a large main gauche. Both were in fine scabbards of hardwood overlaid with tooled leather. The tooling on the leather of each scabbard, while not excessively ornate, was a depiction of a stylized dragon.

  Taking up the saber, Elom drew the blade from the scabbard. It was truly beautiful. The blade was unchanged, a slightly curved, single-edged saber, but the guard was exquisitely done. It had been cast in bronze. It was two dragons, their bodies meeting under the handle to protect the fingers, their necks curving up and around so that their heads touched to form the front of the guard on top, their tails intertwined to connect the guard to the base of the handle. Their wings, partially unfurled, further protected the hand. The Dragons were then reinforced with a nickel-steel alloy to protect the fine casting from being marred when turning a strike. The handle itself was leather wrapped and tied with the same nickel-steel alloy.

  The blade of the main gauche was, of course, made of steel, and fully one foot long. The hilt, though similar in style to that of the sword, was one dragon. The tang of the knife went through the dragon’s body and the head and neck of the dragon formed the top of an S while the tail formed the bottom of it. The wings were slightly unfurled to complete the guard; again, the same nickel-steel alloy protected the bronze. The pommel, though, was a simple bronze cap heavy enough to use as a bludgeon if needed. The handle of the knife was the same type of wrapped leather and metal as the saber.

  “I knew that such a sword was called a Dragon Blade,” Elom said. “That’s why I chose to use dragons when I formed the guards. The tanner who made the sheaths saw the drawings I had rendered for the castings, and worked the leather accordingly. Since no drill bit will penetrate that material, I had to cast the sword in the mold with the wax and then pour the bronze in around it to make sure the guard was secure. I worked in bronze for strength and laid that nickel-steel into the wax before I set it in investment. After the wax was baked out, the bronze poured into the mold and filled in the empty space. The nickel-steel will reinforce the bronze at the edges to prevent wear, and the two metals won’t separate if you have to use them. These blades may look too fancy for use, but they’re fully functional.”

  The two southerners were awestruck. They simply stared as Delno took possession of his blades.

  Delno could find no words suitable for the craftsmanship exhibited here. “Magnificent,” was all he could say, and that came out as a whisper.

  Farrel was the first to move or speak. He rose from his seat, and dropping to one knee, he said, “We have wronged you. We have falsely accused you of thievery and lying. We are shamed. I will not even ask your forgiveness. What we have done is unforgivable.”

  “Nonsense, man,” Delno responded. “How many Dragon Blades are there?”

  He took the man by the forearms and helped him stand before continuing. “As far as you knew, all were accounted for except the blade you seek. It was a mistake; show me a man who has never made a mistake. Come, let us put it behind us and be friends.”

  “That is a much kinder response than I expected or deserve,” he said. Then he glared at Cheeno.

  “Yes, well, I, too, am sorry. If we had described the blade we sought, this could have been cleared up quickly without all of that unpleasantness.” Cheeno said, rubbing his throat.

  Delno realized that Farrel was staring at the Dragon Blade, so he handed it to him hilt first.

  Farrel was so shocked by the gesture that for a moment all he could do was stare slack jawed. Finally, at Delno’s insistence, he took the handle and examined the blade reverently.

  “I have only seen two other Dragon Blades in all of my travels,” he said, “and never before have I been allowed to touch one. You honor me, sir.”

  After first allowing Cheeno to hold and examine the blade, Delno then took a couple of half-hearted practice swings to feel the balance, which was perfect. Then he turned to the southerners and said, “Gentlemen, if you would excuse me for a few moments, I will finish my business here. Perhaps then we can talk further.”

  Farrel nodded his head and said, “We would very much like to talk to you as well. We will await you outside.” Turning to Elom, he added, “Mastersmith, your skill is unsurpassed in any kingdom. I will sing your praises to all who will listen.” Saying this he turned, and, beckoning Cheeno to follow, left the shop.

  Delno was about to speak when Elom spoke first, “Is this all true?” he asked. “Are you mixed up with magic and dragons and the lot?”

  Delno had never wanted to have this get out, but he had decided early on not to lie if directly confronted with it. After all, if you always tell the truth you don’t have to remember what lie you told to whom. So he nodded and said, “Yes, my friend, it is, all of it.”

  “But how?”

  Realizing that he would have to tell the big man, especially if he expected him to keep quiet about it, he quickly told Elom the story. Even the short version took nearly twenty minutes.

  For his part, Elom kept his silence until Delno had finished, then he asked, “So, you’re going away for good then?”

  “Yes,” Delno said. Then, when Elom didn’t say anything, he asked, “You’re not going to try and talk me out of this?”

  Elom laughed, “No, I am not. The last time I tried to talk you out of something it was the army. The next thing I knew, I was on a parade field with some training sergeant calling me names and making me run in circles. If you’re going south, you’ll have to do it without me.” He crossed his massive arms over his chest and stood there daring anyone to try and contradict him.

  Delno laughed out loud and, grasping the big man’s arms, said, “You’re a good man and a good friend, Elom. I’m going to miss you.” Then, remembering what he had come for, he asked, “So then, what do I owe you for the work you’ve done?” After seeing the work, he wasn’t even sure he could afford it.

  Elom just shrugged, “You don’t owe me anything.” Delno started to protest, but was cut off, “Think of it as a goin’ away present. Besides, when those two flappin’ southerners start spreadin’ this story, I have a feeling I’ll be so busy I’ll have to take on more apprentices.”

&
nbsp; “You’ve done so much, and that main gauche was completely unexpected; surely there is something I can do to repay you.”

  “There’s no payment I’d take for it. Work of that sort isn’t done for money. As for making the extra blade, I recalled that you prefer to use a large-bladed dagger in the off hand rather than a shield, so I simply took the liberty. Never been one for that style myself, always preferred a shield, but since it’s the style you use, I’ll sleep better knowin’ that you’ve at least got a good piece of steel between you and trouble.”

  They stared at each other for a moment before Elom said, “There’s a blessing, some call it a curse, that goes, ‘May you live in interesting times and come to the attention of powerful people’. Well, blessing or curse, that seems to be your fate, Corporal. I hope you have good fortune, and if you’re ever back up this way, stop in and we’ll tip a few glasses to the old unit.”

  Delno started to speak, but Elom waved him on and then turned and walked off into the shop.

  Chapter 18

  As Delno stepped from the shop into the dazzling sunlight, he was momentarily blinded and almost ran right into the two men he sought. He had half expected them to have gotten tired of waiting, but they were just outside the door as they had said they would be.

  “It is good of you to wait for me, gentlemen, I apologize for keeping you so long,” he said.

  “Not at all,” Farrel responded. “We have much to ask you, and I believe that you have many questions as well.”

  Cheeno, looking around nervously, added, “Perhaps it would be best to have our conversation some place less public.”

  Delno said, “You’re right, of course. Tell me, where are you staying? I could finish the rest of my business in town and meet you later.”

  “We stay with the Moreland caravan. We are camped on the eastern edge of your city, near the trade road.”