Reign of Madness (Revised Edition) (39 page)

The smith rubbed his beard thoughtfully and then ducked from
the room, claiming he would return in a moment. As promised, he returned a
short time later carrying a two-handed longsword. He handed the blade to Rezkin
who took it and examined the edge, length, form, and weight, which was almost
perfect –
almost
.

He held the sword out to the smith and said, “This is
excellent work, but it is not a master blade.”

“Ye don’t even know what
kind
of sword ye be wantin’.
What do ye care if it be a master blade?” the smith scoffed.

Rezkin held the man in his crystal gaze and said, “Do not
mistake my lack of preference for inexperience. I am capable of wielding any
blade you have with mastery.”

The smith barked a boisterous laugh and said, “That be a
bold claim, young man, I’ll give ye that. I’ll not be sellin’ any master blades
to no unskilled, arrogant lordling. If ye want one o’ me blades, ye’ll have ta
prove yerself.”

“I do not have time for your games, Smith,” Rezkin gritted
out in frustration. “What do you want?”

“Ye show me what yer enchanted blades can do. If I’m
satisfied, I’ll sell ye a sword,” the smith challenged.

“No, I will not draw these here. Choose something else,”
Rezkin asserted while impressing his
will
.

The smith narrowed his eyes but relented without argument.
“Fine. Ye want a random blade, then show me what ye can do with…say…” looking
around, “that one,” he said nodding to a very large great sword on the wall.

Rezkin immediately strode over to the wall and hefted the
massive blade with ease. “Where shall I demonstrate?”

The old smith led Rezkin to a small yard behind the forge
that was surrounded by an eight-foot stone wall. A lone wooden gate of the same
height and wide enough for a wagon stood to one side. The ground was the same
white stone that comprised the roads and buildings throughout the city. Several
barrels used for collecting rainwater sat beneath the eaves, and a couple of
barrels of charcoal were aligned next to two large piles of coal and wood on
the side opposite the gate. In the center of the yard was a raised well and
several stacked buckets.

The warrior turned to the smith and asked, “What do you wish
to see? What will satisfy your requirements?”

“Prove ta me yer worthy o’ carryin’ a master blade, and I’ll
see if maybe I can find one,” the smith said as if he did not believe the young
man could perform to his expectations.

Deciding he would rather not soil his clothes, Rezkin
removed his shirt and laid it over the stack of buckets. He took the great
sword in both hands and swung it a few times to get a feel for the size and
weight. The great sword was designed for inflicting maximum damage through raw
power and momentum, which was advantageous against cavalry and well-armed foes.
The disadvantage was that it required room to employ with effect and could become
nearly impossible to wield in dense battle. Also, it was potentially useless
against a much faster opponent with lighter blades like Rezkin. Luckily, most
people moved out of the way of a man wielding a great sword. It was when the
man began to tire that opportunists rushed to take advantage.

The warrior whipped the sword around in a series of advanced
forms, proving he was no idiot with a blade. What truly impressed the smith was
the speed with which the young man wielded the heavy great sword. His strength
was enough to rival any smith, and his physique spoke of long hours spent in
practice.

The old smith grunted in approval and said, “Alright, ye
done proved yerself. Can I assume ye can actually fight with those blades?” he
asked, indicating the two swords at Rezkin’s hips.

The warrior handed the sword to the smith and strode over to
retrieve a bucket of water from the well. As he walked, he said, “I can.”

“Well, I am sure ye know the tournament be a single-weapon
competition – unless ye be joinin’ the
melee
,” the man remarked.

Rezkin drank his fill and then leaned over and dumped the
remainder of the water over his upper body to wash away the sweat.

“The melee?” he inquired.

The smith ducked into the forge and came back with a drying
cloth. Handing it to the warrior, he said, “It be new this year. Ye can use
whatever non-range weapons ye want, and it ain’t got all the duelin’ rules.
They be holdin’ the matches in the off times from the others in case people be
wantin’ to compete in both.”

“Now, that sounds interesting,” Rezkin said thoughtfully. He
still had no desire to compete, since he felt he had no need to prove himself;
but if he wanted to impress and gain support for his cause, then the melee
would be a good bet. He wondered if winning the melee alone would grant him the
same opportunity as the regular duel to get close to the strikers.

“Apparently, organizers be wantin’ ta make things more
interestin’,” the smith remarked. “They said it’d encourage fighters from other
lands ta compete, since not all of ‘em use swords.”

“And the prize?” Rezkin asked.

The smith grunted and said, “Two thousand gold and yer name
on a plaque in the tournament hall in Kaibain. It’s a bit low if ye ask me. Ye
get an ax in the brain and the healers ain’t fixin’ that. The main dueling
competition winner takes five thousand gold, a fancy trophy of some mage craft,
and a plot o’ land in the province o’ yer choosin’. That only be good fer first
time winners who are citizens o’ Ashai. Foreigners and repeat winners just get
more gold, I think. Rumor has it the duel winner, or the highest rankin’
competitor from Ashai, also gets a chance ta join the strikers, but it ain’t
never been confirmed. Ye prob’ly know all that, eh? Come on, then. I’ll show ye
what I got.”

Rezkin followed the smith into the forge and then into
another room to the side. From the street, the warrior would have assumed this
space belonged to the adjacent business. It was a clever ploy to throw off
would-be thieves. Most of the space was filled with scabbards and materials for
making and wrapping hilts. Rezkin did not see any of the finer metals and gems,
but he was certain the man had them in stock. The smith drew a curtain aside to
show a wall covered in a dozen pristine blades of various shapes and sizes. The
hilts were plain, unadorned, and unwrapped.

Noting the warrior’s perusal, the smith said, “I make the
hilts custom to the buyer’s pref’rence once a choice been made. One o’ my
apprentices be the son o’ a jeweler. I admit he be better at settin’ the gems.
Unless ye be competin’ in the rapier division, regular tournament rules says ye
be usin’ a longsword or shortsword, but ye’d not be doin’ yerself any favors
with the latter. No point in reducin’ yer reach if it ain’t needed. It’s up to
ye if it be one-handed, two-handed or hand-and-a-half grip. I’ve got some o’
each.”

The warrior’s eyes roved over the assortment of master
blades. He paid particular attention to those that could be classified as a
bastard sword or longsword. The terms were often used interchangeably, although
Rezkin usually thought of a bastard sword as being of the slightly shorter
variety, somewhere between a shortsword and longsword. Although commonly used
among swordsmen, polite society often eschewed the term
bastard sword
, since
it apparently offended their delicate sensibilities.

In his typical fighting style, the hand-and-a-half swords
were most convenient since he was usually fighting multiple opponents and could
wield the blade one-handed. He often used his open hand for other purposes such
as throwing daggers or handling another weapon or shield. With Rezkin’s height
and arm span, he did not really need the extra length typical of a two-handed
longsword. Since he already had a longsword, he might have preferred to purchase
a great sword to add to his inventory, but it would not be useful for the
tournament.

The warrior finally selected a hand-and-a-half longsword
that was slightly longer than Kingslayer, which some might have preferred to
call a bastard sword. He swung the blade around in the open space a few times
and admired its perfection. Something just did not feel right, though. This was
not the blade of a king. Of course, his official blades would be the Sheyalins,
but any sword the king wielded had to be extraordinary, especially in front of
the spectators at the king’s tournament. If he was to accept his fate and
pursue the crown, he had to impress.

The old smith watched the warrior curiously as the young man
evaluated some of his best work. Rezkin replaced the sword and stepped back to
lean against the opposite wall as he considered the assortment from a distance.
The decision was going to be harder than he thought. He would never be able to
find a blade to match the enchanted Sheyalins, but he needed to find the best
mundane
blade he could before the tournament.

The warrior’s eyes caught on a glint of metal in a dark
recess in the side wall. He grinned when he spied there on the shelf a set of
su’carai. He strode over, picked up the weapons, and looked at the Master
Swordsmith questioningly.

“Yes, well, I ain’t figured out what ta do with those, yet.
They were a trade, ye see. Some sailor got ‘em from who knows where and wanted
a sword. I know there be a market for those kinds of things, though,” the smith
replied to the unspoken question.

“You know what these are?” Rezkin asked as he brought them
into the light and examined the quality. These were surprisingly fine weapons,
every bit as good as those in the general’s collection.

“They be called su’carai, and they be from some eastern land
whose name I don’t know. I don’t know anyone who can use the things, either, if
yer wantin’ ta learn,” he remarked.

Rezkin finished his perusal of the weapons and said, “That
will not be necessary. How much are you asking for them?”

The smith scratched his chin and said, “I can’t say as I
know the market fer ‘em. The sword I traded ‘em fer was worth twenty gold, and
I’d not mind a bit o’ profit. I don’t like the hagglin’ so I’ll give ‘em to ya
fer a flat price of twenty-five.”

Rezkin lifted a brow and said, “The eastern land’s name is
Zhent’hai, and I would say you unknowingly robbed the sailor. Then, again, he
most likely robbed the man from whom he claimed these. In Zehnt’hai, blades of
this quality could fetch between one and two hundred gold, depending on the
maker.”

The smith’s eyes widened and his lips formed an ‘o’ as he
exclaimed, “That be as much as me master blades!”

The warrior nodded and said, “The market for such things is
fickle. You could get more from a collector because they are rare imports or
you could get less because there is no demand for such weapons. These need to
be sharpened and polished, and they need new grips. I do not believe either of
us would recognize the maker’s mark, so we cannot assume the higher value.
Since I am not a thief, I will give you seventy-five gold, which is fifty more
than you were asking.”

The old smith’s jaw dropped. “You would part with an extra
fifty
gold for what? Honor?”

Rezkin nodded and said, “That and we have not yet made a
deal on a sword. I expect fair turn.”

“The way you be scrutinizin’ me swords, it don’t be lookin’
like yer mind is on winnin’ a tournament. What do you be plannin’ ta use it
fer?” the smith asked curiously.

Impressed by the man’s observation, Rezkin turned icy blue
eyes on the burly smith and said, “I intend to save a kingdom.”

The older man’s brows rose in surprise or disbelief as he
reassessed the strange young man. Scratching his beard, the smith said, “If ye
like unusual things like those su’carai, I might ‘ave a blade in which ye’d be
interested. Just finished it yesterday, I did. I ain’t made a hilt fer it, yet.
I’ve been tryin’ fer years to discover the secret o’ the Sheyalin ta no avail.
I was tryin’ out a new technique and blend. Made somethin’ unique, I did. Not
sure I’d want ta do it again, though. It was a lot o’ blasted hard work ta get
it right. The sharpenin’ and polishin’ was more work than it was worth.”

The warrior eyed the smith skeptically. “You do not speak
highly of the blade. Why would I be interested?”

“Oh, no, don’t be mistakin’ me,” the smith said shaking his
head. “The blade be perfect, beautiful even. It was makin’ it that was such a
trouble. The metal be so hard it was damn near impossible ta sharpen and
polish. Took two or three times as long as a normal blade, but it be sharper
than the others. At first, I thought it might be
too
hard. I worried
it’d be brittle and break, but I put it through rigorous testin’ and ain’t been
able ta break it yet.”

“What is so unusual about it?” Rezkin inquired.

“Let me just show ye,” the smith said as he stepped through
the doorway. A moment later he returned with the sword bundled in linen, which
he placed on a side table and methodically unwrapped. There sat the strangest
sword Rezkin had ever seen.

“It is
black
,” Rezkin remarked. The sword seemed to
absorb the light into an endless void. The surface had been polished to appear
as glass but little light was reflected. To look at the surface was to look
through water into an empty cavern the sun never reached. It was the night sky
with no moon and stars.

“Yes, it is,” the smith stated. “Not much demand for a black
sword, though, beautiful as it is. People want shiny and silver, preferably with
blue swirls,” the smith chuckled. “This blade is more than black, though. Hold
it to the light,” he insisted. When held in the light, a field of jagged green
lines running along the blade in a lightning pattern blazed into view.

“
How
?” Rezkin asked in amazement.

“It be pattern welded, fer sure, but that wouldn’t be so
impressive as it be done on the more fanciful blades often enough. Never they
be done in black and green, though, and never in a pattern like
that
. Ye
see, there be this mage. He was messin’ ‘round with his magic and made a
strange metal by accident. Thing is, the metal wasn’t black. It was green
– a dark forest green. He had no use fer the stuff so he asked me if I
wanted it. There wasn’t much, little more than a handful, but I thought it
might be interestin’ ta see what I could do with it. Problem was, the stuff
wouldn’t shape, so I started mixin’ it with me iron. When I came out with
that
,
I asked the mage if he could make more o’ the stuff. He tried but couldn't
figure out how he did it, so it’s likely that’ll be the only one. After the
trouble with the sharpenin’ and polishin’, I decided I prob’ly don’t want no
more, anyway.”