Chapter I

Chapter I

The ring of metal on metal echoed through the city streets. Its inhabitants had only recently awoken, and few walked about as a tentative sun peeked above the horizon. Amidst the trees that remained in the more lightly populated outskirts sang songbirds, and there unique melodies warbled and mixed with the sounds of a stirring city. The dew of the morning began to disappear as the feet of travelers stole its moisture and muddied themselves. Already it could be seen that the city, Comlen, would be a busy one today; yet even amidst the chaos of a marketplace and the scalding of a furnace, it would be peaceful. News of late had suggested that the bandit groups of the region had been pushed back northward, stopping their southward advance that had put Comlen in danger.

In return, the Guard requested supplies in the form of steel weapons, and the populace was only too eager to reciprocate the aid lent to them. Even as we begin, a man named Niklass, who is aged at twenty summers, thusly just turned, beats out a length of iron as per the mandate of his respected office. His father before him also was a blacksmith, but the raids of brigands from the north had always hampered his efforts at providing plenty for his family. Niklass’ entire family, so far as he knew, lived in a city a day’s journey to the north, and he was greatly relieved when he heard that none of his kin had been injured or slain in the battle there.

“Good morning, Niklass.”

Recognizing the voice, he responded without stopping his task.

“As to you, Kane. I take you are here for the swords, or have you come for idle words?”

“Straight to the point, as always,” responded the Guard with a smile. “What is your donation?”

Niklass pumped the bellows, which tousled his dark hair and caused fire to reflect on gray irises. “I was able to sell a good number of weapons when the bandits were still a threat, so I should be set for awhile in terms of gold. How does this sound: four for free, and a fifth for half the usual rate?”

“It sounds generous to me, knowing the speed of a blacksmith’s work; or perhaps, the lack thereof.”

“My friend, you wound me with such unkind words,” came the reply, with a smile and clicking of the tongue.

“I just think that if you ever hefted one of your own creations every now and then, there would be a place for you amongst the Guards.”

“What, at my age? I couldn’t even become a knight, most likely. And besides, no tale has reached my ear of a shortage in your ranks. There are far better candidates than I.”

“It is but mine own speculation,” Kane returned with a shrug, “but I would not be so quick to rule it out, as you have yourself.”

“Tell me, how did you deceive your captain into thinking you can perform your tasks quickly?”

“Ah, the coward draws his steel! Have at you, villain!”

“I’m afraid I have left my sword for slaying such cads as yourself at home, perhaps I shall thrash you another time.”

“That iron you hold is sharper than your wit, one could say,” -he dodged a mirthful kick- “but I will not judge so. These here are the swords then?”

Kane approached a wooden weapons rack laden with five blades as Niklass checked over his shoulder.

“Aye, just be sure not to cut your finger, we wouldn’t want the Guard’s finest out of commission from such a horrible wound as would take an entire week to heal over.”

“I felt a small prick just now, I know not whether it was the scathing words of a buffoon or perhaps a leaf caught in a strong breeze.”

Both men chuckled as Kane tied the sheathed swords into a bundle with twine.

“Well, heed my words, good Niklass. If you think you can neither join the Guard nor the ranks of knights, start with the mercenaries.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Their competition with the Draconics has them thirsting for new recruits. You can’t trust those filthy b – erm, snakes.”

“Thank you for finally minding your tongue. You know how much I loath such base talk.”

“Well you mind yourself around their lot. I’ve seen one of them, I have. Unnatural speed, strength beyond any man I’d seen till then, and I’ve not seen any such display since.”

“Well, I’ll be careful.”

“You best be. They’re not all as noble and true as we of the guard, you know; some of them have quite the shady personality, so I hear. Well,” he continued, raising his voice again, “I’ll leave you to it. Don’t slack off, mind you; if we are to keep those bandits at bay, we must be properly equipped. Take care of yourself, long life and good health.”

“You too. Don’t get killed out there, Kane. I’d be starved a target to ridicule.”

“If I did fall, I’d haunt you the rest of your days until you learned to pick your enemies more wisely. I believe you have a tendency to lose the duels you enter.” He counted a few coins and enclosed them in a small pouch. “There you are,” said he, tossing it to Niklass, “you’ve now been compensated. I anticipate our next encounter.”

Niklass nodded in reply, and Kane turned and left. As the ringing of steel again filled the skies, Niklass mused to himself over his friend’s suggestion. After all, this was not the first time this suggestion had been made. A letter lay on a table in his room above the smithy dated two months old expressed his parent’s desire for him to join into the warrior class. Niklass had but one hesitation in the doing, however: he would either have to start as a bandit, which his corpse would not be found doing, or a mercenary, which can be hired for jobs of equal, if not less, evil. So he remained a blacksmith.

An entire year would go by before he realized that he did indeed need to join the ranks of the mercenaries. During that time he would go from living in comfort to deciding between buying another length of steel or having a decent meal. He did, however, have the good fortune to see one of those people called Draconics as he moved about the city, and was inspired by the longsword he carried that bore the shape similar to that of a feather, and began to craft such blades for the Guard.

His skill at forming the uncommon blade gained him renown amongst the warriors, but the demand for his handiwork still remained too low. Therefore, on a midsummer day, he crafted a final blade at his smithy, the sword he was now associated with. It stood about four and a half feet long from tip to pommel, and its handle was crafted of cherry wood. Its blade started broad, then tapered until it suddenly formed an angular tip. The handguard was small in comparison to most swords, as its main roles were to keep the hand from touching the blade and aesthetics. Upon the completion of his work that night, he sharpened the blade to a razor’s edge and laid it aside for the evening.

By noon the next day, his smithy was sold, along with most of his possessions, and he was equipped for the long journey that would take him to the south and west, where the headquarters of the mercenaries lay in the port town of Talm. The first steps of his journey were the first steps into a new era of his life, and a new epoch of his land.