Author's note: I am trying a little experiment. A short story consisting of several blog posts. I am hoping each blog post will stand on its own as part of the story, and that they'll add up to a greater story when told together. This is Dragon Valley, Part 1: The Swordsmith. See the second installment here.
---
I stepped into my cousin's forge, dragging the heavy bag behind me. He was standing by a small barrel of nails, counting them and moving them to another barrel. He turned his head, and dropped the nails he was holding back into the first barrel.
“Zed!” he cried. I approached him and grasped his hand. He was a few inches shorter than me, but his shoulders were broad and muscular.
“Newl! How's business?” I asked. He looked down and shook his head.
“Still makin enough to support meself, but not enough to support a wife.”
“Maybe you should find a rich woman to marry, then.”
“Perhaps I should, at that. What's in the bag?”
I lifted the bag with a grunt and set it on a table. “I need a sword. I've got iron to trade.”
He came over and opened the bag, examining the tools and fixtures I'd brought in. I touched a box I'd brought in my coat, hoping I wouldn't need it.
“The time and efforta the swordcraft is worth more than this iron.”
I sighed and brought out the box. I opened it, revealing a selection of silverware.
“Grandma's silver.”
“So, your pa leave it with ya.”
“To me, and we can fight about that later. The sword?”
“It's been so long since someone asked fer one, I figured I was wastin my time keeping up with swordmaking.”
He limped over to a cabinet, unlocked it, and opened it up. There were a dozen swords, each a different style, all beautiful. They reflected the light brightly; these swords were cared for. I took a deep breath and walked to them. Newl and I practiced with some old swords, just for some healthy exercise and competition, but this was the first time I'd seen all the swords he made.
There was a long blade with a faint blue shine to the metal. There was a dark one, shorter and broader than the others, with a black blade. That one looked quite powerful. Another had a white blade with a slight curve. That one looked to be designed to hit with one side only. The others were very similar to each other; iron swords, gleaming brightly, variations on a theme.
“A fine selection for someone with no customers.”
“A hobby, to honor my trainin. I thought I'd make a killin here, surrounded by monsters as this valley is. I didn't expect the quiet, or that nobody'd fight.”
“You keep them well polished.”
“Yes, well, a man with no mate has a lot of time to polish swords. What makes you want one beyond your rust stick, anyway? Not that I mind, just curious.”
“The dragon's eaten my flock, down to the last sheep. I'm going to stop it.”
He took a step back. “What, you got the whole peaceful valley to fight by yer side? Or have ya been messin with dark forces, or convinced the gods to fight with ya? Surely, you'll not try on your own. You'll not be that crazy.”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Newl, I know you couldn't understand, but those sheep were to feed my children, and my wife. I have nothing now; they're going to starve.”
Newl pushed me aside and shut the cabinet. My chest tightened. I was breathing heavy. "I'll be havin no parta your suicidal plot." He drew a key out and locked the cabinet. “You think, because I havena children meself, I couldna understand ya lovin yers?"
His northern accent always got thicker when he was upset. He hustled away from the cabinet and back to the nails. He began counting again.
“If I don't kill the dragon, it will be back. A monster that size can't be satisfied with one flock. It will eat every sheep in the valley. Even if it never touches a human, this valley will die! Sunlight only knows why it isn't eating people!”
I waited a moment, my breath trapped inside me, while he counted his nails.
“What'll revenge get ya?” he asked.
“It's not revenge. Or not only. Dragons have treasure; they love gold and magic. I could use that to buy a new flock and rebuild my neighbors' damaged flocks.”
I slowly let out my breath and drew another. He remained quiet and thoughtful. I gritted my teeth and spoke with all my determination.
“I'll fight with a pitchfork, if I have to.”
He sighed and hung his his head. He put a set of counted nails into the second barrel and marked it with a piece of charcoal. “Try findin someone to help ya fight, ye moon-adled fool. Not me, this leg'll slow you down. And not Lord Maley; ya know he gets funny when people talk monster fightin.”
I smiled. He went back to the swords and opened them up. I picked each up to test their weight and balance.
“If it weren't for me leg, I'd be beatin you at every swordplay.”
“I was winning them before your injury, little cousin.”
“Keepa tellin yourself that, little man."
I most liked the blue sword and held it up. He looked and laughed. “The one sword I didna make. The one my master challenged me to match.”
“He made it?”
“Na, some other crafter, long ago. Crafter's name's been long lost.”
“Not available, then?”
He scratched his beard, thinking. “Here's what I'll do. That's the best sword in there, and you need whatever edge you can git, if you'll pardon the pun. Consider this my contribution to the fight; you use that sword to slay the dragon and share the treasure with me. But give me share fair, or I'll take the sword back and replace it with another.”
I nodded and smiled. “Little cousin, you have yourself a deal.”
No comments:
Post a Comment