by Demetri Grim
“My, My apologies my Lord!” Montgomery quickly stammered out, setting the letter down on the table and snapping his fingers at her. Beka blushed brightly and quickly begin darting around the room, picking up the links. Montgomery stepped forward to greet the well-dressed and clearly Noble elf. “What brings ya out in this rain my lord?” Montgomery said, adopting his business-like posture and voice. The large thickly-muscled man bowing low to the Noble elf, even though their heights, both at least six feet, were evenly matched. The broad shoulders of Montgomery made the thin elf seem particularly small as the man unhooked and draped his cloak over one arm. His clothing was as finely-crafted as his boots. Elegant green silk and golden filigree stitched in spiraling patterns decorated his perfectly tailored tunic and black silk trousers. The pattern reminded her of the envelope from her mother's letter and she scrunched her nose in thought as she went about trying to not make her observations of the noble obvious.
“Unlike the common folk I do not have the luxury of sitting idly by the hearth and fooling about as work grinds to a halt. The needs of the kingdom and the court continue regardless of any rain.” His voice was high and cultured and his words were sharp and precise if not a little nasally, with the hint of an accent that had long ago been schooled with proper decorum. He waved off the smith’s bow with the polite hint of disdain most nobles exhibited when dealing with their lessers. “Where I’m from it rains for much of the year.” Looking down, the man lightly kicked the metal link, sending it clattering towards Beka. “I’m going to presume you’re not currently engaged in a project of any significance, and will be accepting orders?”
“Of course my lord! The girl and I were simply having a bit of..." He hesitated a moment, looking back to Beka. She glanced to him over her shoulder as she was addressed, meeting his eye before turning to chase down the link the man kicked before it rolled under a shelf. Her attention was fixed on the strange noble despite having her back to him, a cool chill was slowly creeping up her spine despite the humid hot air in the shop. A tingle of nervous energy shooting over her skin like spiders. Beka shivered as she caught up with the kicked link of chain, snatching it into her hand before hitting the old wooden shelf with her shoulder.
“Omph, that was close,” she grumbled to herself as she looked back across the room and the hundreds of scattered links all over the floor. This was going to take too long, and she wanted to hear what the noble was going to say. Glancing around the back of the shop, she found what she was looking for. A pair of long solid iron rods. “Perfect, I can use these if I can find an opening to make some noise,” she thought. The elf’s haughty voice once more drew her attention to the front of the store.
“Spare me. I do not need to know, nor do I particularly care. This is your smithy is it not?” With a sniff he handed the smith his damp folded cloak, moving farther into the smithy.
“It is my lord. Montgomery Galten at yer service my lord.” His mustache twitched irritably as he peered down at the cloak in his hands and then back up to the noble who was idly running his fingers along the length of a displayed sword. The blade glimmered and rippled under the elf's touch, sending a silver light cascading down the length of the blade as if he was running his hands through a pool of calm water above a polished mirror. Beka crept forward, trying to keep the two of them in easy earshot while making it seem like she was still cleaning the mess up. Tucking the rods under her arm she stooped to retrieve a few more, her eyes following the elf as he moved past the sword display.
“Then seeing as its your smithy you’re free to do as you please are you not? Including waste time?” The noble’s snide jab made the smith’s mustache twitch. She bit her lip. Wanting to respond with a snide comment of her own in return but her uncle cut her off as he ignored the obviously baited question.
“There somethin in particular, ya be looking for my lord?” Montgomery's tone shifted lower. Beka could hear her uncle’s irritation at the pompous elf. It was bringing out his lowborn accent worse than normal. His usual calm and amiable demeanor fraying at the edges immediately.
“I am in fact.” The elf responded but made no sign of saying more, instead moving on to examine a set of full plate armor that flickered with the same faint silver light as the blades. The elf lord flicked a clean manicured finger against the center of the armor. The air filled with a soft ringing as if a high bell had been struck. His hand sprang away from the breastplate as if his arm had been pushed by an unseen force. The elf crossed his arms, admiring the display of silver ripples that radiated out from his touch, his hand on his chin as if in thought.
“And that would be?” Montgomery growled before he caught himself and added “my lord." Without the usual polite tone he used when dealing with customers. Beka grinned and bit her lip again, bringing out the two iron rods from her side. This was her chance!
The store resounded with a near deafening clang. Montgomery flinched and slowly turned to glare at her. Beka flinched as well at her Uncle's gaze and opened her mouth to offer a defense. The ends of the half inch iron poles were still vibrating from the impact of when she hit them together. She offered him a sheepish grin feeling the warmth of her blush spreading across her freckled face.
“What in the hell do ya think yer doing!” He mouthed at her under his breath, eyes blazing death at her. The furious look made her flinch again and cast her own eyes to the floor.
“I'm sorry.” She cringed and whispered back. “I thought he was going to flick the armor again.” Her voice trailed off as she backed away hoping to distance herself from the hell fire that was trying to leap from her uncle’s eyes and pin her to the floor were she stood.
“How is that even a...” He started, raising an exasperated hand out to her. A soft cough immediately reminding them of their guest.
“Is there a problem, Master smith?” The now deathly calm voice of the elf called out to them. A shiver of ice ran down Beka’s back at the emotionless inflection of the noble. Her Uncle shot one last glare at her before schooling his expression.
“N-no my lord." He swallowed and straightened himself, turning back to the elf. “The girl was just using an old blacksmith’s trick to help clean up the mess is all." He gestured back to her. His eye twitched as he made eye contact. “Afraid loud noises are just the hazards of the smithing trade my lord.”
The elf crossed the room to stand beside the slowly nodding smith, his fingers lacing together in front of his chest, his eyes fixed upon the small redhead. One eyebrow raised as he glanced from her to the table. Following his gaze her brows came together in concern— the letter from her mother was still sitting atop the unfinished chain shirt. Stepping in front of the table Beka met the elf’s glowing blue eyes.
“My apologies my lord.” Beka said, doing her best to bow low and not look too awkward. She groaned at herself. She was trying to bend at the waist like her uncle had. Hardly the way a lady should be addressing the noble, and giving him far much of an eye full. Beka scoffed under her breath about the insane decorum nobles demanded and adjusted her top. Cheeks flushed brightly, she caught herself with the table and bent her knees, spreading her arm out to the side, iron bars still gripped tightly. After wobbling into a poorly executed curtsy she rose and turned her burning cheeks away from the man, looking instead to her uncle who had his palm over his face.
“And what is this, trick, that you are using girl?” The elf inquired to her as his eyes followed the girl's, his tone lighter, almost friendly. Honest curiosity creeping into his voice alongside what seemed to be amusement at the girl’s failed attempt to offer respect. Deciding this was a good chance to save what little dignity she had left, she returned her gaze to the elf and held up the iron bars.
“Well, my lord, these rods are solid iron, and when you give ‘em a good whack.” She raised her arms slightly and prepared to strike them together again in demonstration, only to hesitate under the steel melting glare of her uncle. Beka smiled at him as he dropped his hand from his face and cr
ossed his arms over his thickly-muscled chest, nodding for her to continue. “It makes the metal, clingy to other bits of iron.” She continued making a mock gesture of smacking them together before dropping one end of a rod to the floor, just over one of the links. With a small tink sound the link lifted from the floor. “Only works with iron, lucky that's what we make our chain from.” Beka held the end of the rod towards the elf showing him the link clinging into the bottom.
“Fascinating,” the elf responded. Taking a step towards her, he plucked the link from the bottom of the rod. “I was under the impression, based on this smithy’s reputation, that there were no mages present for the enchanting.” The elf's voice was teasing as he toyed with the link between his finger and thumb, eyes not once leaving her. His cold blue eyes made her feel uneasy; the intensity made her feel as if he was peering inside her. Beka crossed her arms over her chest and fumbled for her words.
“It's not actually magic, it’s just, smithing trade secrets is all." She fidgeted and looked away. It was unsettling, creepy even to being caught in the elf’s unflinching stare. Beka shrugged nervously as she tucked her hair behind her ear. Looking to her uncle for help with the strange man.
“My lord, about your request...” Montgomery began, stepping forward, moving between her and the elf. Beka watched his curious expression vanish instantly. Replaced by the cold, arrogant gaze of nobility once more.
“Yes, about my order.” The elf sniffed and pointed past them to the table and letter still sitting there. “You are kin to the Magister Bethany Elizabeth Fineret I presume? That is the seal of my king, and of my homeland Arcadia.” The elf adjusted his collar and stood tall, his voice imperial and proud. “I am Takagi Kindredstar, first cousin to King Arka Starfall, of the empire of Arcadia. If you are the kin of Magister Fineret, the appointed emissary of the King of Cross, I will be placing an order with you, master smith.” The elf seemed to spit out the smith’s honorific “Master” title as if trying to clear his mouth of a foul taste. The entire speech sounded rehearsed. She scrunched her nose at the man— it was common knowledge that her mother was related. Why would he need to make such an overblown proclamation, just to put in a work order?
“Galten.” Montgomery corrected in a flat monotone, crossing his arms. Clearly not impressed by the noble’s proclaimed title and unspoken challenge to prove their relation to her mother. “She was remarried to my older brother Tobias Galten, about 20 years ago. Your information, my lord, is a little out of date. Fineret was her first husband’s name, rest his soul.” Montgomery bowed his head slightly in respect of the dead but kept his eyes fixed on the elf. Beka felt her heart flutter at her father's name, the wound of his loss still healing.
“My pardon, Master smith.” The elf inclined his head slightly to the side, meeting his eyes, his tone sharp and uncaring despite the apology. “I was familiar with the man, Sir Jonas Fineret. He was quite the knight in your king’s honor guard as I recall.”
“I would not know my lord, he was good and well before my time.” Montgomery gestured back to the shop’s counter, inviting the noble to follow him. Obviously trying to move along the conversation, his patience clearly at its limit. The elf simply remained, his eyes peering through her uncle, to a distant place only he could see. A flicker of blue light forming around his hand in a spiraling runic pattern. Several runes flashed as his thin fingers touched them before winking out of existence.
“Yes, before your time. I forget how short-lived your kind are sometimes. I will have to make a note to update my records when I return to the castle.” He turned slightly to follow the smith, pausing to glance over his shoulder at her, his faintly glowing eyes flashing briefly before his attention returned to the smith. Beka felt her brows come together once more and the tingle of spiders ran along her skin. What was with this elf?
“So what will it be my lord? Armor?” Montgomery asked, taking his place behind the counter and setting the man's cloak on top. He pulled a bit of cloth paper from out of a box along with a charcoal-tipped pencil. “You seemed to fancy the...”
“No not armor. I require a weapon. Moreover a weapon fit for a champion.” Beka gasped in surprise and clamped a hand over her mouth. ”I am sponsoring a local soldier, as is tradition of a man of my standing. Naturally it will be for the games next month. He is a knight of the kingdom, a Kingsguard actually.” He paused looking over his shoulder once more, catching Beka’s eyes, she quickly looked away. “His name is Lavetz Fineret.” Eyes widening, her head snapped back to the elf at the name. The elf noble smiled a wide thin line that did not reach his eyes.
“Ahh, now I see.” Montgomery said, rubbing his chin with a calloused hand. “Yes, we are kin. Half siblings in the girl’s case, Sir Lavets is her brother from my sister-in-law’s first marriage.” He hooked a thumb back at her. Beka turned away, her face heating up, and she started to sweep the iron bars back and forth over the floor even faster. She was already annoyed with gathering the links, she wanted to hear more of the conversation. Why would this man sponsor her brother? His cold uncaring personality was practically the exact opposite of her warm hearted warrior brother. “She takes after her father in case you're wondering,” her uncle continued, Beka’s thoughts spiraling away from her as she listened on.
“Indeed I was curious, I recognized the bloodline of her mother as soon as I entered. Magister Fineret’s family has always had a great deal of power within in their blood.” She could hear her uncle grumble at the noble’s misuse of the name once more, his teeth clacking together as the elf continued. “Though she shows little sign of her true heritage it would seem.” She stopped to look at the man, her mouth open to give him a piece of her mind for such a rude remark but she fell silent when she met his gaze. It was fixated on her once more, his overwhelming presence stealing any protest.
His eyes flashed again bursting into azure light. Lifting his hand, magic arced between his fingers forming a sigil. She could swear she recognized it from somewhere. Waving his other hand forward over the sigil it flickered and changed rapidly, as if he was cycling through an unseen list of arcane runes. Stopping on one he pressed his hand to the magic, as it snapped into crisp solid lines. A spiral of secondary runes appeared, orbiting around the sigil, making it pulse in time with each rune as it passed the center. The smaller runes were all different colors, each of the primaries like red, green, and blue, but also violet, gold, and even black. She recognized the red one, the rune for fire, but missed the others as the mage flicked his fingers to the side. The runes spinning quicker around the sigil. She watched as they spun. The cascade of light casting a kaleidoscope of color around the smithy. Holding his hand up in a halting gesture the runes stopped, a familiar green one directly in front of his hand but she could not put a name to it. With a casual flick he touched the rune. It flickered once, the other runes vanished as it merged with the sigil at the center with a flash. The magic manifesting into a shining blue green compass. It almost appeared to be made from crystal, but it pulsed the same faint light as the sigil.
”This is a specialised form of detecting magic,” the elf explained slowly. His voice condescending, as if trying to teach a small child something that was common knowledge. “I am using my array in a rune binding to find Wildland based arcana within the vicinity. That, in case you were wondering is the type of innate magic elves such as myself and Magister Fineret...”
“Galten” Beka snapped before she even realized it was coming, her face flushing as she slapped her hand over her mouth. She recognized the spell now, remembered it. Remembered why she had forgotten about it. The memory was a painful one. A spell to detect magic, or to see awakened magical potential. To test bloodlines for magic. She knew her mother was powerful. She was a Magi after all, a title given to a master of many schools of magic, a jack of all arcana rather than a specialist like a pyromancer, cryomancer, or enchanter. Magic ran strong in elvin bloodlines, lasting generations. Yet she had none. Every year on her birthday she would be ch
ecked to see if her own magic had awoken. She use to beg her mother to cast it, wanted to see if things had changed, they never did.
“My pardon, young miss. I meant to say Magister Galten.” The corner of his mouth coming up in a smirk. “Wildland magic is the natural magic of our kind. No matter what arcana we create it will be tinged with that energy. All elven races pull power from the Wildlands.” He held out his hand with the compass for her to see. The arrow on the compass began spinning rapidly for several rotations. Her brow furrowed... could her magic have awoken? It had been many years since her last test, not since the year her father... With a flicker of blue light tinged with emerald the arrow stopped. Pointing directly back at the mage’s chest. She sighed, the tiny spark of hope she felt died out as she met the elf’s gaze. The magelord frowned and closed his fist around the compass, dispelling it. “A pity, you truly lack your mother's gift at magic.”
“I could have told ya that my lord, I have seen the girl’s mother use that trick several times before.” Pointing to the elf with the charcoal pencil. “If she had even a hint of magic do ya think she would be here swinging a hammer with likes of me and not at the Magisterium learning how to grow and master the gift alongside her mother?” He set down his charcoal and gestured to the weapon the elf had run his hand along earlier. “But she's a natural at her father's trade.” His voice was pointed and cutting, laced with his irritation but she could still hear the pride in it as well. She felt herself flushing yet again and shook her head dispelling the disappointment she should have known was coming. The mage simply rolled his eyes and glanced back to Montgomery.
“Then I trust she will be assisting you in my request.” The elf turned to the sword the smith was pointing at. “Is that one of hers?” She followed his gaze, the glimmer of silver along the longsword’s polished blade gave it a mirror shine. The simple handle and cross guard was decorated with fine spiraling patterns of gold filigree. The pattern hooked and wound around the handle giving the impression of being covered in fine golden thorns and ivy.